Chain of the Mind
by Jordan Trevor
Summary: Were there only four lights? What if the fifth light was there all along? Following his captivity by Madred, Jean-Luc Picard struggles to recover. Can Crusher, Troi, and Riker help him see past the lights and find his way home? This story is set after "Chain of Command."
1. Chapter 1

**Chain of the Mind**

**Author's Note:** This story was first published in 1997 in the fanzine _Four Lights 1_.

**Disclaimer:** The crew of the _Enterprise_ doesn't belong to me.

_Four lights. There are four lights. Four lights...four lights. _The words were in his mind, echoing over and over with each trembling step. _Four lights...four lights._

Madred didn't move, but he watched, his face an expressionless mask. _There are five lights, Human. Five lights._

The guards took Picard by the shoulders, and he jerked away from them, groaning sharply. _Four lights. _He didn't want their help, didn't want to feel their hands on him. He swayed unsteadily into one of them, but he regained his balance and kept on walking. _Four lights. There are four lights. Four lights._

Madred sneered silently, his lips curling. _What a stupid little Human. So pathetic. There are five lights._

Picard continued to plod toward the door, the dull sound of his bare feet on the floor keeping rhythm with the words. _Four lights. Four lights. _A step. A step. _Four lights. _A step.

Let _him go, _Madred thought. _Let him go. One less thing to bother with._

The door slid open in front of Picard, and he could see the corridor, dim, shadowed. So close. He'd seen it before, had almost reached it before... The aching muscles in his neck and back tightened defensively; he expected to hear Madred's voice, cold, calculated, his words stopping him. But there was silence as he passed through the door, trailed by the guards and Lemec. Silence...except for the cadence in his head. _Four lights. Four lights. _He didn't look back, and the door closed behind them.

Madred turned in his chair, stared up at the four lights above him. He sighed. _Good. He's gone. _He drew in a breath. _No. He was never here._

~vVv~

One guard took a forward position, and Picard followed, slowly, docilely. _Four lights, four lights. _Wherever they were taking him, he had no choice but to go with them. If Lemec had lied, if they weren't returning him to the _Enterprise, _then there was really nothing he could do. Nothing. Nothing... _Four lights._

"Faster, Human," the other guard spat, pushing him roughly from behind. _What useless creatures._

Staggering, Picard fell to the floor, the left side of his face hitting hard against the stone. _There are four lights. _His teeth bit down on his tongue, and he tasted the rusty tang of blood in his mouth. It was a taste he had grown used to.

"Careful with him," Lemec hissed. "I don't want him injured any further." _Federation scum._

The guards lifted Picard to his feet and held him until he was able to stand on his own. He pulled away from their grasp. _There are four lights._

"Let's get on with it," Lemec ordered. _Get it over with._

They trudged twenty meters down the corridor, plain, unadorned gray walls on either side. _Four lights, four lights. _And then a door to their left slid open. Picard followed the guard inside.

The room was all black tile and stainless steel, and Picard cringed with thoughts of more torture, especially when the lead guard reached over and tore off the shirt he was wearing. _There are four lights. Four lights. _Naked, he stood there shivering in the cool air, his flesh prickling with fear and apprehension. _There are four lights. Four lights._

Lemec studied the Human's body, the bruises, abrasions. Madred's toy. His plaything. Damaged goods. He smiled. _And now he has to give it back._

"There's a shower over there," one of the guards said, pointing to the far corner of the room. "Clean yourself, Human," he jeered. And the other guard laughed. _What filth._

Picard unsteadily made his way across the room…_four lights…_his eyes focusing so hard on the shower door that his vision blurred. _Four lights. There are four lights. _He reached the shower; the door opened. He hesitated. A guard pushed him. He stumbled inside; the door closed. Water came on automatically, scalding hot needles that burned his flesh, penetrated his chest and back, his legs, his scalp. But the pain was nothing…nothing compared to what he had already endured, and he stood there under the pelting drops for long minutes, until weakness and wracking sobs overtook him. He slid to the floor of the shower, crying uncontrollably.

~vVv~

He wasn't sure when the water had stopped. All he knew was that he was cold. Bitterly cold. _There are four lights. _His head ached painfully and his joints felt frozen in the cramped position he'd taken on the floor of the small shower stall, pressed into the corner, his chin tucked to his chest.

He opened his eyes, saw four lights. He blinked. The lights were gone. Tentatively, he moved his arms and legs, and they tingled sharply as feeling, pain, flooded back into them, replacing the numbness. He groaned and waited several minutes before he slowly tried to stand. Just as he got one leg under him, the door swung open.

A guard stared down at him. _There are four lights. _Picard tried to shrink away, but the Cardassian reached in, pulled his head back awkwardly, and held him there, the thin skin of his throat exposed, like an offering. A lamb to the slaughter. He lathered Picard's face with a caustic soap that stung his eyes and swollen lips. _Four lights, four lights._

"We wouldn't want to send you back with more hair than when you arrived," the guard laughed, taking a long straight razor and running it up Picard's neck, over his chin and cheeks, the sharp edge biting into his skin. _There...are…four...lights. _He knelt, helpless, until the guard was finished.

"Now, dry yourself off," the Cardassian growled as he pulled him from the shower, shoving him roughly into the middle of the room. _How ugly the Human body is. How small. _Again, he laughed.

The air outside was even colder, and Picard shivered fiercely for several long minutes, an eternity, standing in the middle of the room, his gaze never lifting from the tile floor. He could feel their eyes on him. _Four lights. There are four lights. _Finally, the other guard threw him a small, threadbare towel. He dried his face first, wiping away the soap and blood; then he toweled the rest of his body, rubbing the cloth roughly against his skin to warm himself. Despite the shower, he was still dirty. But no one seemed to notice...or care.

"Dress him," Lemec ordered from the side of the room. "I can't return him this way. Not the decorated captain of the Federation's flagship. What would his crew think of him? Especially in his undecorated state."

And although Picard struggled, one guard held him tightly as the other forced him into a loose fitting shirt and baggy trousers. He hated the feel of their hands on his body, touching him. _Four lights. There are four lights._

They started to put boots on his feet, but Lemec stopped them. "Give him to me," he said impatiently, reaching out and taking hold of Picard's shoulder.

Picard tried to resist, but found that he couldn't. Lemec's grip was like a steel vise digging into his muscles. And he felt his head swim nauseously when the Cardassian transporter beam took hold of him. _There are four..._

~vVv~

They put him in a small cabin on the Cardassian ship. It was dark, no lights...warm, almost soothing. But the alien transporter had been too much of a strain on his system, and as soon as the door slid closed behind him, he became violently ill. Kneeling on his hands and knees, he expelled the meager contents of his stomach: the Tespa and the cheese and fruit Madred had given him earlier. Perspiration beaded across his forehead, and his skin was cold and clammy. Too weak and exhausted to climb onto the bed, he rolled over onto his side, rested his head on his arm, and fell into a restless sleep.

~vVv~

Light. One light. Not four. Bright. Voices. No, one voice. Loud in his ears. He groaned and turned over on his back, looked up at the open door.

"On your feet. Human." Lemec glared at Picard. He lay in a heap on the floor, his own vomit staining his face and clothes. Like garbage.

Picard squinted against the brightness.

"I said on your feet. Now!"

The toe of a boot shoved him in the ribs, and he gasped for a breath that was not there, feeling the sharp crack of bones against his lungs. _There are four lights. _Slowly, his chest burning with pain, he pushed himself up off the floor, falling forward into Lemec's arms as a wave of dizziness hit him.

"Stand up," the Cardassian snapped, pushing him away. "We're sending you back to your ship."

And the jagged edges of Lemec's face melted in front of him as once again he was enveloped by a transporter beam.

~vVv~

Beverly Crusher's heart beat. Hard, fast. She waited.

The air above the transporter pad shimmered, folded and solidified into Jean-Luc Picard. She gasped. _My god. _He seemed to barely be standing, held up like a broken puppet, waiting for the last string to snap. His clothing was torn, stained, his feet bare. She was beside him immediately, wrapping one hand securely around his arm, running a tricorder over his body with the other. _I'm here, Jean-Luc. I'm here. _The left side of his face was terribly swollen, his temple bruised, his lower lip split in several places, dried blood smeared along his chin.

He raised his head and looked at her with dull, tear-filled green eyes. "Be...Beverly?" he rasped, his throat sore and dry. _Beverly..._

And in that one word, she could hear his pain and fear, could feel it wash over her. She tightened her hand around his arm. "It's all right, Jean-Luc. You're home." _With me._

_Home. _He swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment, wanting to believe that he was home. Really home. When he opened his eyes, Will Riker was there, holding his hand out to him.

Picard shook his head, refusing his first officer's help. "I'm fine, Will," he murmured. "I can manage." _There are four lights._

Taking a shallow, painful breath, his hand moving up to his chest to cover his ribs, he stepped off the transporter pad, Crusher still holding his arm. She steered him toward the door.

"Beverly..." he started to protest her attentiveness.

"I'm taking you to Sickbay." Her voice was firm. "No arguments."

He sighed heavily in agreement, too tired to argue. "No... arguments."

Crusher felt him lean against her, almost all of his weight, and she put her arm around his shoulders, held him up. _What did they do to you? _Together, they stepped towards the door, and it slid open.

Picard was only vaguely aware of the other crew members surrounding him. Riker was there, and Troi, maybe O'Brien. _No, can't be O'Brien...can't be...he's... _But all he could concentrate on was each step. And as he walked, the silent litany returned. _Four lights. There are four lights. Four lights. _They entered the corridor, and he allowed Crusher to guide him. _Four lights. There are...four lights. Four...lights. _His breathing was labored now, and he felt nauseous, dizzy. He stumbled and began to fall. Gentle hands caught him, strong arms picked him up, holding him like a baby, his head cradled against a warm, broad shoulder.

"I've got him, Beverly," Riker whispered. _I've got him._

~vVv~

He felt himself being lowered, and he clung to Riker's uniform... _there are four lights._..began to cry and shake his head back and forth. _Hold me. _He didn't want to let go, didn't want to leave the safe haven of the warm arms that carried him. _Four lights._

"Shh, Jean-Luc." Crusher's hand touched his forehead. "You're all right. You're in Sickbay. I'm here." _Right here._

_Beverly. Hold me._

Riker laid him on a bed and gently removed Picard's clenched hands from the front of his uniform. "I'll be right here," he assured his captain, his voice tight with emotion. Troi stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder. Riker felt her presence in his mind, calm in the midst of his own inner turmoil. _Deanna. _She smiled softly at him. _Imzadi._

Picard was tossing on the bio-bed, struggling to get up. _There are four lights._

"I don't want to have to do this, but I need him to lie still," Crusher explained as she stepped over and pressed a sensor pad on the wall panel. "I want to avoid sedating him until I'm finished with my examination."

A restraining field covered Picard's body, greatly reducing his movement. He lay there, staring up at the faces above him as they slowly came into focus. Will... Deanna... They weren't Cardassians. Madred wasn't among them. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Beverly... "Beverly?"

Her face leaned closer to his. "I'm here. I'm going to examine you, Jean-Luc. Don't try to move. It won't hurt." She straightened back up, and he felt someone begin to remove his clothes. He screamed at the unfamiliar touch of the nurse's hands.

"I'll do it," Crusher said quickly. And then the hands that touched his body were hers. Soft, warm, gentle. Familiar. Beverly's. He closed his eyes and allowed her to take care of him.

~vVv~


	2. Chapter 2

Crusher leaned back in her desk chair, raked her fingers through her hair, stretched and yawned. Umm...so tired. The past few days were catching up with her, but she'd resisted Troi's suggestion to go back to her quarters and rest. She couldn't be that far away from him. Not now. He was in the next room, sleeping, but he could wake at any moment. And she would have to be there. _This time I have to be there._

She felt herself beginning to tremble, and she gripped the edge of her desk. _I_ _left him there. Worf would have gone back for him. But I made us leave. I was the one who left him. _She shook her head, tried to push the thoughts away. _Thinking like this won't help Jean-Luc. _She sighed. _But there isn't much I can do to help him now. He needed me then. And I wasn't there. I wasn't there._

Her eyes fell upon the electrode on her desk. She'd removed it from Picard's chest less than an hour ago. She reached out and closed her hand around it. So _small, and yet... Damn them. Damn those bastards. _"Damn!" She picked up the electrode and flung it across her office just as Will Riker appeared in the doorway. The device bounced off his shoulder.

"Hey!" he gasped in surprise, then reached down and picked it up off the floor.

"Oh, Will, I'm sorry." Crusher leapt to her feet. "I wasn't thinking. One minute I... And then I..." _Oh, hell._

The first officer held up his hands. "Beverly, it's all right." _I __know how you feel. _He felt like throwing things himself. Only the things he wanted to throw were bigger, and looked like Cardassians. And oh, how he wanted them to break on impact with the ground.

She sank back into her chair, and Riker sat down across from her. He turned the electrode over in his hand, studied it curiously, thin wire tendrils pointing out in all directions. "Ugly little thing, isn't it?"

Crusher nodded in agreement. "You know, I removed almost a dozen Borg implants from Jean-Luc, but not one of them scared me half as much as that thing does."

Riker set the electrode back on her desk. "Geordi told me he looked at this, and he agrees with your assessment."

Crusher grimaced. "When programmed, it can cause excruciating pain in any area of a person's body. If used at its maximum setting for an extended length of time, it can easily cause heart failure."

Riker flashed her a question with his eyes.

Crusher smiled faintly, thankfully. "His cardiac implant is fine. They tend to hold up better than the real things."

"Small favors." Riker glanced toward the door. "Is he sleeping?"

"Yes." _For now._

The first officer licked his lips and the lines across his forehead deepened. "How is he, Beverly?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

But Crusher supplied the details with a professional detachment she definitely did not feel. "Physically: bruises, contusions, a few broken ribs. There are still traces of the drugs they gave him in his system. I'm not familiar with any of them, so there's really no way of predicting whether there will be any long term effects. There is some severe nerve damage along the synaptic receptors in his brain, and..." she hesitated for a moment, her gaze lowering from Riker to the surface of her desk, professional detachment only extending so far, "and in other areas of his body that are the most...sensitive to pain."

Riker winced, automatically thinking of the most sensitive areas of his own body. Any man's body.

"The nerves should regenerate within a few days," she continued, running her hands over her face, steepling them together in front of her chin, "but I can't tell you how complete that regeneration will be." She picked up the electrode again. "Between the drugs and this, there may be some irreversible brain damage."

"Beverly..." Riker's voice was heavy with disbelief and full of unanswered questions.

Crusher sighed and slammed the electrode back down on her desk. "I just don't know. But mentally, emotionally..." _Oh, Jean-Luc, dear god. _"It's going to take time, Will. Even I can sense that." _A long time._

He shook his head in understanding. _ I can sense it, too. _"I was hoping to look in on him, if it's all right?"

"Of course, it's all right." Crusher got up from her chair. "I'll go with you." _I've been away from him too long._

~vVv~

The sound of Picard's breathing filled the small room. Steady, reassuring. They stood together in the doorway, watching him sleep.

"They'll get away with it, won't they?" Crusher whispered.

Riker sighed. "There's not much we can do. Tension is still so high along the borders. We're just damn lucky to get him back." _Damn lucky._

Crusher caught his eye. "Thanks to Jellico," she said.

He nodded, grudgingly. "Thanks to Jellico," he bit off each word, reluctant to admit that the man he held little respect for had indeed gotten their captain back.

~vVv~

Picard shifted in the bed, groaning in his sleep. They went over to him. He looked so small, vulnerable, his face ghostly pale against the blue sheets, the circles below his eyes dark and pronounced. An intravenous tube, from a bag of clear liquid hanging over him, snaked down into his left arm. Awake, he was an imposing man, his voice and manner commanding, authoritative. Asleep, he was... _Just _a _man, _Riker thought. As susceptible to danger as they all were. _But I should have kept him safe. It was my job. And I failed._

"Shh," Crusher soothed, running her hand along Picard's fevered cheek. She noticed Riker eyeing the intravenous tube. "He was dehydrated. I want to get some fluids into him, build up his strength." He moved again, cried out, tears slipping from his closed eyes. Crusher brushed them away. "I can't help wonder what he's dreaming. What he's reliving." She hung her head. "We should never have left him." _I_ _should never have left him._

She felt Riker's hand touch her shoulder. "Beverly." Then his fingers gently raised her chin. His blue eyes met hers.

_Odan._

The thought was there for a moment then gone.

_Will._

"Don't. Don't start thinking that you and Worf did the wrong thing. You didn't." _I_ _did. I let him go._

She shook her head, and he drew his hand away from her face. "I know, Will." _I_ _know it. I just don't believe it._

Picard stirred uneasily, rubbed his hands across his chest as if pushing at bindings that were not there. "No...no," he moaned, his head tossing back and forth on the pillow. "Don't..."

Crusher leaned over him, catching one large hand in hers. "It's all right, Jean-Luc." She took a wash cloth from the basin on the bedside table, began to run it gently over his face and neck. Earlier, there had been small cuts on his cheeks, along his jawline, probably caused by some sort of razor she'd surmised. But they were gone now, smoothed away by one of her medical instruments. The miracle of modem medicine. How she wished she could so easily smooth away the lines of pain etched around his mouth and eyes, creased across his forehead.

Riker laid his hand, warm and heavy, on her back for a moment. "Take care of him, Beverly." _Take care of him. _And then he quietly left the room.

~vVv~

"Will." Deanna Troi stood in the open doorway of her quarters, a light blue robe draped about her shoulders. Her hair fell in gentle curls around her face.

_Imzadi. _Riker blinked. "Deanna. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." _I_ _wanted to see you, needed to see you._

She reached out and placed a hand on his arm even as he retreated. "You didn't wake me, Will." _Imzadi. _"Come in." She drew him into the room.

"It is pretty late." He stood there, staring at the floor. _Please, don't ask me to leave._

Troi crossed over to the food dispenser. "It's not that late." _Never too late for you. _"Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?" Riker didn't respond. "A cold beer?"

He looked up, a half smile on his face. "Alaskan brewed?"

"Well, as close as the replicator can get." She laughed. He shrugged. She took it as a positive response. "A cup of hot chocolate, and a cold beer," Troi intoned. The beverages appeared instantly. She picked them up and walked over to the sofa. Riker didn't move. "Sit down, Will," she prodded gently. And he came and sat beside her. "Here." She placed the mug of beer in his hand.

He winced slightly. "Cold."

"I seem to remember you prefer your beer that way."

He nodded absently. "Cold beer and..." His voice trailed off.

"Cold beer and warm women," Troi finished the statement. He stared at her. "Don't look so shocked. I've heard you say it before." _Many times. All those times you thought I wasn't paying any attention._

He shook his head. "Guinan should cut me off before I get to that stage."

"I agree."

He set the beer on the table in front of him. "I really didn't come for a drink anyway." _Why did I come? _He glanced over at her. _To be with you._

Troi set her cup next to the mug. "I know." _I_ _always know what you're thinking, Will Riker. _He stood abruptly. "I'd better go." _If I don't leave now..._

"Will." Troi stood, touched his shoulder. _Imzadi. _He felt the warm pressure of her fingers through his uniform. "You don't have to go."

He turned and stared down into her fathomless black eyes, felt himself falling into them.

"We don't have to sit here drinking." She placed her hands against his face, caressed his beard and cheeks. "And we don't have to talk," she murmured as her lips brushed against his.

~vVv~

Crusher bathed his body carefully, his arms and legs, gently washing away the dirt that still encrusted his skin. She touched him tenderly for his chest and abdomen were covered with bruises, and his wrists were swollen from the manacles. She'd already taken care of the serious injuries; his ribs and the incision where the electrode had been implanted were fairly healed now. And as soon as she finished, she would turn back on the regenerative field he'd been lying under. But for now, she wanted him clean, as if she could wipe away the very thought of what they'd done to him by bathing away the grime.

_Oh, Jean-Luc. _She traced her fingers under his collar bone. The scar was still visible, light and fading, not at all the way it had been earlier, jagged and ugly. He was healing. _Thank god._

He stirred, moved uneasily under her hands and groaned, pulling away as she ran a dry towel over his upper body. "Umm." His face twisted in pain, his eyes moving rapidly under closed lids. He was dreaming.

"Shh," she soothed, brushing her hand over his cheek.

He relaxed at her touch, his tension eased, but he didn't wake. She moved down to his legs, began to bathe them. Except for a sheet folded over his waist, he was unclothed so that his body would be exposed to the regenerative field. As a doctor, she was used to people's bodies, touching them, healing them. And she'd become accustomed to this man's body in particular. The hours of surgery following his encounter with the Borg, the days he'd spent in Sickbay afterwards. All the times she'd held him, rocked him through nightmares. And this was not the first time she'd given him a bath. There was a certain intimacy between them, unspoken, rarely alluded to when he was conscious. But it was there.

And he was here. And he was safe. And she wouldn't let the Cardassians touch him again.

~vVv~

Riker leaned against the viewport, watching the stars. Silent sentinels. He welcomed their protection. Just as he welcomed the company of his Imzadi. Here, standing beside him, her head resting against his shoulder, her dark eyes focused not on the stars, but on him. And he felt comfortable under her gaze. Safe. Secure. Home.

~vVv~


	3. Chapter 3

"No!" Madred's face hovered over him. "No!" Frantically, he pushed at the figure. "Don't...no..." _Please stop. Please._

"Shh." Hands touched his shoulders, then his arms, gently pressing them back down on the bed. "It's all right. Jean-Luc."

_Beverly. _His eyes snapped open. "Beverly?"

"I'm here." _I'm right here, Jean-Luc. _Tenderly, she stroked his face, brushed away the tears, the beads of perspiration on his brow. "You're all right." _I'm not going anywhere._

Picard drew in a ragged breath and pushed himself up in bed, his head propped awkwardly against the pillows. He stared at Crusher, not wanting to take his eyes from her familiar face. He reached his fingers up and touched her cheek. _Beverly. I thought they'd hurt you. _He gasped, swallowing. "Oh, Beverly."

She smiled softly. "It's all right now. You're fine." She wrapped her hand around his, pressed his cold with fear palm against the warmth of her cheek. How fragile he looked, frightened, cheeks hollow and pale._ I'll take care of you, Jean-Luc. You're with me now. _"Everything's all right."

_No. _He shook his head, slowly, carefully, for there was a pain building behind his eyes. He winced.

Crusher rubbed her other hand over his temple. "Take it easy."

He closed his eyes. _I'm home. She's here. _Madred's face was suddenly there on the back of his eyelids. "No!" He opened them again, quickly.

"Jean-Luc?"

"It's nothing." _Everything. Four lights. _He drew his hand away from her grasp and touched his bare chest, his fingers moving lightly over the area above his heart. He squinted. The skin there was tender, sensitive.

Crusher gently pulled his hand away. "I've removed it, Jean-Luc," she assured him. "It'll be a little sore for a day or two. But then you'll never know it was there."

_I'll know._

"Here, let's make you a little more comfortable." She helped him sit up, then adjusted the pillows behind his back and settled him against them.

He stared down at his body, the blankets folded to his waist, then at his arm. He frowned.

"What..."

"It's just a glucose/saline solution. Nothing to worry about. You were a little dehydrated."

He sighed. "What else is wrong with me?"

"Oh," she smiled reassuringly, "not much. A few cuts, bruises, a couple of broken ribs. You're running a slight fever, but that's good. Lets me know you're healing."

He swallowed, shifted uncomfortably, his head beginning to pound. "Is that all?" _Please, let that be all._

She stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if she should tell him more, and if so, how much. She rubbed her hand over his shoulder and felt him tense at the contact. All the times she'd examined him, treated his injuries, held him through nightmares, and he was still sometimes embarrassed by the way she touched him, comforted him.

"Beverly?" he prompted, his voice shaking slightly.

She'd never lied to him. _And I won't start now. _"There was some nerve damage, Jean-Luc." She saw him swallow again, nervously. "But I don't think it's permanent. Now here," she took a cup of water from the bedside table and handed it to him, "drink this."

He took it, not realizing he was trembling until drops of water sloshed over the rim. He tried to steady the cup with his other hand, but his shaking grew worse.

Crusher quickly took the cup back. "I'll hold it."

He managed a slight smile, then leaned forward and took a sip of the cool liquid. It eased the dryness of his throat, and he gulped at it.

"Easy there," she said, pulling the cup away. "Not too much all at once."

He nodded, licked his lips and let his head fall back onto the pillows. Crusher returned the cup to the table, then sat down on the edge of the bed, her eyes staring blankly at the medical monitor on the wall. I _nearly lost you._

"Talk." The word was barely a whisper.

She looked back at him. "What?"

"Talk to me." _Please._

"What do you want me to say?" _I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you._

"Anything. I just want to hear your voice." _Any voice other than his._

She smiled, leaned her head to one side, thinking. "Well, let's see..." _We should have gone back for you. I should have. _"I got a letter from Wesley the other day. He's in love. Again."

Picard arched his eyebrows. "Is he?" _Keep talking._

"Oh, yes. Third time this year. He says this one's serious though."

"Really. I warned him once about serious relationships." _Seems so long ago._

Crusher gaped at him. _You? _"And what, pray tell, did you tell him Jean-Luc?"

He lowered his eyes, suddenly embarrassed, color flushing his cheeks. "Just...to beware." He heard her trying to suppress a laugh, and he looked up at her. "All right. Perhaps I'm not one to be giving advice. Especially on relationships." He smiled self-consciously as Crusher's blue eyes brightened. She loved teasing him about affairs of the heart.

But instead of saying anything, she just shook her head. "No, I'm glad you did. I appreciate all you've done for him." _For us. For me._

"He's a fine young man." So _much like his father. _"I miss having him around." _Just as I still miss Jack._

"I do too." _And I missed you. _She stared at him for long, silent moments._ I_ _could have lost you, and it would have been my fault._

"Keep talking." _It's too quiet._

_"_You need your rest." _I_ _don't know what to say._

"No," he resisted, "I'm not tired." _Don't want to sleep. To dream. To see the jagged faces again._

"Jean-Luc." She picked up a hypo-spray from a tray on the bedside table. "You've been through a lot." _We all have. _"Sleep's the best thing for you right now."

"Beverly..." _Please. I want to stay with you. Don't leave me._

Despite his protests, she pressed the hypo against his neck. "I'll be here when you wake up." _I will._

He grimaced slightly, and his eyes closed.

"I promise," she whispered._ I_ _won't leave you. Not this time._

~vVv~

Riker reached for another helping of sausage and eggs, and Troi laughed. _You never change, Imzadi._

"What?" He looked up at her, his blue eyes unusually bright for so early in the morning. _Not even 0600 yet. And damn, you're gorgeous._

Troi smiled. His thoughts touched her mind softly, lighting her own dark eyes. _And so are you. _"That's the third plateful you've had so far."

The sound of her voice seemed to confirm that the woman sitting across the table from him was not a vision, and the reality of his surroundings suddenly hit him. Deanna's cabin. Deanna's table. Eating breakfast with Deanna after spending the night. Riker stared at her uncomfortably, his fork poised above his scrambled eggs. "I'm. I'm hungry." _No I'm not, I'm nervous as hell. And you know it. _He lowered the fork to his plate, took a deep breath. "Deanna, about..."

"Don't, Will." She looked down at the table and sighed. "Please don't say 'About last night.'" _We don't need to have this conversation._

He shook his head, confused by her reaction. _You're the one who always wants to talk about things. _"But Deanna..."

She raised her eyes and reached across the table, touching his hand. He hadn't realized how tight his fingers had grown around the fork. He tried to relax. "Will, we're friends. Good friends. I love you. I always will." She squeezed his hand. "Friends are there for each other." _Always._

He nodded. "It's just that-" _They took him, and if they could take him, then..._

"No. Let's not examine the reasons right now. There'll be time for that later." _I_ _have a feeling we're all going to need time._

Riker coughed, drew in a breath, released it and felt her calming presence in his mind. They sat there for several seconds, not moving, and then Troi pulled her hand away from his.

'You'd better finish those eggs. You're going to need all your strength today." So _am I._

He shrugged, trying to throw off the weight of their previous conversation. With some effort, he slid back into his first officer mode: calm, in control. "And why is that? I thought the worst of all this was over." _Isn't it?_

The look in her eyes seemed to say 'not yet,' but she didn't speak the words. Instead, she smiled teasingly, and said, "You have two captains to deal with this morning. I believe one's in Sickbay having croissants and Earl Grey tea with Beverly Crusher, and the other is probably in the ready room eating nails for breakfast."

~vVv~

Jean-Luc Picard was supposed to be eating croissants and drinking Earl Grey tea. At least, that's what his Chief Medical Officer was trying to get him to do. Unfortunately, his breakfast was getting in the way of his work.

_Uhh... _"Please, Beverly, I'm not hungry." He pushed the plate away as he tried to continue keying into the bedside computer. He was awake now, alert and dressed in a pair of blue Sickbay pajamas. But still, the thought of food made him feel sick. And there was work to be completed, reports he was eager to be done with.

"Jean-Luc, you haven't eaten in days." _Damn it, why are you always so stubborn?_

Picard glanced down at his left arm, now completely free of all medical paraphernalia. "Then apparently that stuff you fed me through those tubes filled me up." He cut his eyes quickly back to the computer screen.

Crusher shook her head exhaustively. "One does not get filled up on a glucose/saline solution." She reached over and turned off the computer. Picard blinked. "Now, are you going to eat of your own free will, or am I going to have to restrain you and then feed you myself?" _It wouldn't be the first time._

Picard frowned up at her. _Why was it that the person standing over you always held so much power? Like Madred. _The thought caused him to shudder and close his eyes tightly. The moment passed. But not before she noticed.

"Jean-Luc?" She sat down on the edge of his bed, her hand going immediately to his forehead, soft, gentle fingers, stroking his creased brow.

He opened his eyes, stared up at her, smiling weakly. "I'm all right." _No, I'm not._

"Here," she held the tea cup to his lips, "drink a little of this."

He took a sip. The liquid was warm, the taste blessedly familiar. He drank more. Despite the queasiness in his stomach, he had to admit that Earl Grey always made him feel better. He wondered if it had any unknown healing properties. _Only for me. _He could remember Maman giving it to him for any little ache or pain during his childhood. He smiled broadly at the memory.

"See there, a little nourishment is helping your disposition already," Crusher commented with a look of victory on her face. "Now, I think if we try one of these croissants, you'll begin to feel even better." _I_ _hope._

"I will feel better when you release me from..." his eyes roamed over the ceiling and walls, "from this place."

Crusher picked up a croissant and buttered it lightly. "This place, as you so aptly call it, is where I spend most of my day. It's not so bad once you get used to it." She spread a generous amount of orange marmalade on the pastry in her hand. "Now, take a bite of this." She held it out to him, mere inches from his mouth. _Please, be a good boy, Jean-Luc. I'm tired._

Picard took it out of her hand. "I can feed myself, Beverly."

"Good. Get started." She stood up. "I'll be in the next room if you need me. Just press the call button." She took a few steps toward the door, then stopped and glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, yes," she pointed to the computer, "I don't want to see that turned on until after you finish eating."

His eyes narrowed at her. "You always get your way, don't you?"

She grinned. "Usually." _I got you back._

"But this is my ship," he replied, mustering as much strength behind his voice as he could. _At least. I hope it still is._

'Yes, but this is my sickbay. Now eat." And with that, she was gone, the tails of her blue lab jacket swirling behind her.

Picard grimaced, and trying to ignore the uneasiness he felt, took a small bite of the croissant he was holding. _Umm... _He hated to admit it, but it was good. He took another bite. Quite good. The tension in his stomach lessened. It was much better than the report he was working on, much better than some glucose/saline solution. _And far better than Tespa. _He shuddered at the thought.

~vVv~


	4. Chapter 4

Will Riker chose to report in with Jellico first, before making his way to Sickbay. He would have preferred to avoid the man, but he was still technically in command of the ship, even though Picard had returned. _And we wouldn't have him back if it hadn't been for Edward Jellico, _Riker reminded himself as he stepped off the forward turbolift and walked straight to the ready room door. He pushed the door chime and waited for permission to enter.

"Come in," sounded faintly from the other side.

The door slid open, and Riker went into the room.

Jellico was standing behind the desk removing pictures from the wall, his back to the door. He didn't turn to look at the first officer.

"I'm reporting for duty, sir," Riker said, his voice calm and steady.

"I'm glad," Jellico replied, still busy with the wall. "I have something I need you to do."

Riker straightened. _What now? "_Yes, sir?"

Jellico turned toward him and laid a stack of drawings on the desk. "I need to see Picard's report."

Riker's jaw hardened. _Good god, the man hasn't even been back on board for a day yet. _"I'm sure the captain will get to it as soon as he can," he answered, trying to be diplomatic. "Doctor Crusher isn't overly fond of her patients filing reports while in her care."

Jellico shook his head and sank down into the desk chair. "No, Doctor Crusher doesn't strike me as someone who would allow that in her sickbay." He hesitated for a moment, his fingers rifling through the pictures. "That's why I want you down there. Check on Picard, see how he's doing. Get me that report, Commander." He was trying to make his voice sound firm, demanding; Riker saw through the facade. But he didn't let on. "As soon as that report is on file, I can read it. And as soon as Picard is out of Sickbay, I can go." He looked up at Riker. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." _Perfectly._

"Dismissed, Commander."

Riker left immediately, shaking his head in confusion once outside the door. He couldn't read Edward Jellico. Never knew what to expect next. Maybe that's what bothered him so about the man. True, he got his job done in his own way, but something about him reminded the first officer of a lone wolf, just as Troi had mentioned earlier. And the trouble with lone wolves was that you never knew where or when they would strike.

Thankfully, Riker stepped on the turbolift and headed for Sickbay. He found himself smiling at the realization of who he would find there.

~vVv~

Beverly Crusher was just removing an empty plate from the captain's bedside table when Riker walked in. It was good to see he had a healthy appetite.

Picard looked over at him as he turned on his computer. "Good morning, Number One." _Damn, I'm glad to see you._

"Good morning, sir." _Thank god you're back. _"How are you feeling?"

Picard shot a glance at Crusher. "I feel fine. And I'm ready to get out of here."

"Not until this afternoon," the doctor said as she slipped out the door, escaping any rebuttals.

Riker stepped closer to the bed, a grin on his face. "You know how she is, sir. Very thorough in her job."

Picard sighed. "Thorough to a fault," he muttered, then glanced at the computer screen. "I should have this report done within the hour. I know Captain Jellico is eager to see it."

"Well, sir, he did send me down here to check on it."

Picard raised an eyebrow. "Did he?"

Riker nodded. "I think it was all pretense though, an excuse for allowing me to come and see how you were doing." He sighed. "I just can't read him. One minute he makes sense and the next-"

"He's a fine captain, Will." Picard paused, thoughts forming behind tired, circled eyes. "We're not all cut out of the same cloth, you know? Each of us has our own style of command. You and I are different in many ways."

"But I've always believed that we complement each other, sir. Our styles work well together."

Picard grinned and laughed slightly. "They do now."

Riker thought back to their first months as a team. It hadn't always been smooth sailing. It had taken time. _Time._

"You see?" Picard said, reading the thoughts on Riker's face.

"Yes, sir." _I see._

"Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to finish this report so that all interested parties can review it. Please tell Counselor Troi that I am fine, and I will talk to her later." He was all business now, all captain.

"Yes, sir." Riker smiled with relief and took a step backwards, as Picard moved his gaze back to the computer screen.

"Oh, and Will, I would appreciate your returning shortly after 1200 hours. I may need someone to help me escape from here if Beverly changes her mind about releasing me. You know how she is," he added.

"I'll be back, sir." _You can count on it._

~vVv~

His report was finished, signed, sealed, documented, relayed to all appropriate channels. It hadn't been easy to write. And yet, it was better to have done it now, while the events were still fresh in his mind. Not that he would ever forget them, not that he could. If he closed his eyes, he could still see Madred and the lights. _There are four lights._

He kept his eyes open, although he was tired. _Better not let Beverly know that. I'll never get out of here. _And he did so want to get out. Wanted desperately to return to his cabin, be surrounded by familiar possessions. _And yet... I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be away from her._

_We will get what we need from the human female. _The memory of those words seemed to stop his heartbeat even now, as it had then. _I'm home. Relax. It's over. There are four lights. _He drew in a deep, calming breath. Madred's words had cut through him, caused more pain than any amount of torture could have. _Beverly. _He couldn't let them hurt her. And he'd stayed. He would have stayed forever to keep her safe. To even believe that he'd kept her safe. For he couldn't really trust Madred. Beverly Crusher could have already been dead at that moment, but he hadn't allowed himself to believe that. _She was safe. Safe. _And walking through his door, carrying...

"My uniform." A broad smile replaced his frown, but not before Crusher noticed.

"Yes, your uniform," she said, placing it on the bed beside him. She touched his arm. "Are you all right?"

He sighed. "I'm fine, Beverly." He stared down at the cranberry and black material. "You're going to release me?" _Please._

"I was thinking about it," she replied with a sigh of her own. _Only I'm not ready to let you go._

He grimaced. "Doctor, let's not play games. Either you are here to release me from Sickbay, or you're not." He leveled his gaze on her. "I would prefer that you release me." _I_ _think._

"I would prefer to release you also, but..." _No, that's a lie. I don't want to release you. Not ever._

"But what?" He arched an eyebrow at her. "You just brought me my uniform; you admitted that you were thinking of releasing me. I feel fine, my injuries are healing-"

"That's right. They're still healing, Jean-Luc. They're not completely _healed _yet." _What they did to you... _"And you could still have a reaction to the drugs they gave you. If I could just keep you here under a regen field for another day-"

"They're just bruises, Beverly. Not broken bones." He ran his hand over his chest. "Those have healed. And the bruises will fade. In time. And I will contact you immediately if a start to feel ill." He was silent for a moment, his green eyes studying her carefully. "Please. Will you release me?"

She hesitated a moment. His body was still covered with bruises, dark, mottled surface hemorrhaging. But it wasn't life threatening, and so she nodded, "Yes." Picard's smile returned, as she increased the pressure of her hand on his arm. "But if anything bothers you. If you experience any pain-" _I'm here, Jean-Luc._

"I'll know where to come, and who to see. I promise." He gently covered her hand with his own, patting it lightly. "I'm all right. And more than ready to take command of my ship." He saw the worry in her expression. "And I thought I might have a talk with Counselor Troi."

Crusher smiled. She knew when he was placating her. But it was a good idea, one she was about to suggest herself. "Very well. But then you go to your quarters and get a good night's sleep. No overworking, no catching up on reports. You'll have tomorrow for that." _And every day afterwards._

"I will, Doctor. I assure you."

She pulled her hand away from his arm. "Get dressed. Commander Riker is in my office, waiting to escort you to your bridge... Captain."

~vVv~

When the door of the turbo-lift opened, Jean-Luc Picard stepped out, onto his bridge. _Home. _Will Riker hovered behind him like a mother hen. But that was all right. In a way, it was comforting. As were the words that he heard: "Captain on the bridge." Crew members snapped to attention.

Picard strode down the ramp to where Edward Jellico stood, Riker following close behind him.

"Welcome home, Jean-Luc," Jellico said, reaching out and shaking his hand.

Picard released a sigh, inclining his head slightly. "Thank you," he responded, taking a deep breath.

"Just the way you left it. Maybe a little better," Jellico assured with a wave of a hand and his usual confidence.

Picard's eyes roamed over the bridge. It was the way he'd left it. Thankfully.

"Computer." Jellico's tone took on a serious note. "Transfer all command codes to Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Voice authorization: Jellico, Alpha 3-1."

There was the working sound of the computer, and then, "Transfer complete. U.S.S. _Enterprise _now under command of Captain Jean-Luc Picard."

It was a welcome thing to hear, but sobering, and Picard's face was grim. "I relieve you, sir," he said, assuming the weight of command once more. It seemed heavier somehow.

"I stand relieved," Jellico replied without hesitation. He crossed to the ramp, then turned back slightly. "It's been an honor serving with you." And with that, he was gone, disappearing into the aft turbo-lift.

The captain settled his gaze on Riker for a moment. "You have the bridge, Number One." His voice sounded weary, exhausted.

"Aye, sir."

Picard nodded at Troi, then headed toward his ready room. The counselor exchanged a knowing look with Riker, and then followed the captain.

Once inside, the door slid closed as Picard motioned toward the sofa. Troi sat down and crossed her legs. She could sense his emotions, although he was trying to contain them, block them, not so much from her, but from himself.

Slowly, he sank down next to her, his palms running nervously over his thighs and knees. "I, uh..." He crossed one leg over the other, pulled at his uniform, then drew his hands together in his lap. "I don't know where to begin," he said softly, exhaling a heavy sigh. "It was a..." He fell silent, his eyes staring straight ahead, as if he were seeing it all again, reliving it. And there were no words to describe what he'd seen and lived.

Troi leaned toward him. "I read your report." Words that couldn't be spoken had somehow been written.

Picard shifted, moving his shoulders, and nodded slightly. "What I didn't put in the report was that," he unclenched his hands, using them to help shape his words, "at the end he gave me a choice between a life of comfort or more torture. All I had to do was to say that I could see five lights, when in fact there were only four." He paused, his lips pursed slightly.

"You didn't say it?"

"No." He shook his head. "No..." His eyes were again seeing things only he could see, visual memories that would forever be a part of his mind. "But I was going to." His voice was weak, low, so brittle. A whisper. "I would have told him anything...anything at all." He drew in a sharp, shallow breath. "But more than that, I believed that I could see...five lights." _There __are...five lights._

~vVv~


	5. Chapter 5

Will Riker stared at the door to the captain's ready room. _Open. Please open._

Troi had left over an hour ago, giving the first officer a shadowed smile as she walked up the ramp to the aft turbo-lift. The look on her face seemed to say, 'give him time.' And so, Riker had. But now he was growing nervous. It was nearing shift change, and he didn't want to leave him there, alone. Besides, Picard needed his rest.

Riker sighed, a half grin forming on his lips, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit. _When did I grow so paternal? _And he answered himself. _When you found a family on this ship. _It was a theory he'd been wrestling with for a couple of years now, his reluctance to leave the _Enterprise, _to accept command of another starship. What exactly were his reasons? For the past few months, the word 'family' had kept jostling around in his mind. More than crew mates, more than friends. It was an idea he was fast coming to accept, but with the acceptance came a much higher level of emotional commitment. And a commitment to relationships of any kind was not something he made frequently. At least, not where feelings were concerned. _And love._

He stretched his long legs out in front of him and stood up, headed towards the ready room. Data was sitting at Ops, and he paused long enough to place a hand on the android's shoulder. "I'll be in with the captain. Take care of things."

Data looked up at him, his expression ever quizzical. But he nodded and replied, 'Yes, sir. Things will be taken care of."

Riker smiled, knowing that they would. He had complete confidence in Data to take care of the entire ship single-handedly if it were necessary.

He stepped over to the ready room door, touched his fingers -to the door chime, and stood there, waiting to hear the captain's familiar one word permission to enter. All he heard, after the faint sound of the chime, was silence. He touched the button again, the high pitched note, and then nothing. Not wanting to alarm the rest of the bridge crew, although he felt sure that Data had noticed the slight delay, and deciding that Picard was probably so wrapped up in a myriad of reports that he hadn't heard the chime, Riker activated the door and went in. He immediately noted that the captain wasn't sitting behind his desk, nor was he seated on the sofa next to the wall.

"Captain?" The only response was the whisper soft swish of the door closing behind him.

The room seemed cold, although Riker knew it should be the same regulated temperature as the bridge, and the turbo-lifts, and the corridors throughout the ship. Of course, individual rooms could be adjusted to any degree of warmth or coldness, but he'd never known the captain to change the temperature in his ready room, preferring that there be no difference between his office and the bridge.

Riker stepped further into the room, his eyes glancing toward the door that led to the food dispenser and on to the bathroom. He half expected to see Picard, a cup of Earl Grey tea in hand. But he wasn't there.

"Captain Picard?" He strode over to the door on the left wall. _If he's sick, in the bathroom...unable to hear me, or answer... _Various scenarios instantly ran through his mind, and Riker already had his hand on his communicator, prepared to call Sickbay if necessary. And that's when he saw him, from the corner of his eye, a blur of dark red and black uniform seated on the floor near the desk, in front of the viewport, his head leaning forward against the glass. He wasn't moving.

"Captain?" Riker said firmly, raising his voice to make sure he heard. The man's shoulders didn't even flinch in surprise. _Please, god. _He went over to Picard and knelt down on one knee beside him. He was breathing. Riker could hear the slightly labored sound of it, could now see the almost imperceptible movement of his back. His eyes were closed, but he wasn't sleeping.

"Sir?" Riker touched his arm, but received no acknowledgment of his presence. "Jean-Luc?" He reached up, pressing his fingers against Picard's neck, checking his pulse rate. Rapid. "Jean-Luc?" he said again, moving his hand to his captain's cheek. Cold, like ice. Piker's other hand activated his communicator. "Doctor Crusher." His voice opened a channel to Sickbay.

"Crusher here."

"Beverly, the cap-" He stopped himself, slowed down his thinking, realizing the need to be discreet. He had no way of knowing who was in proximity to the chief medical officer, who might overhear their conversation. And this was definitely a 'need-to-know' situation.

"Will?" _Jean-Luc?_

"Doctor, I need you to report to the ready room... And bring a med-kit." _And hurry. Please, hurry._

Crusher caught the underlying concern in the first officer's tone, the urgency he was trying to conceal. She didn't ask any questions, and was half-way out of Sickbay with her kit as she replied, "I'm on my way."

~vVv~

Riker waited, for what seemed like an eternity, his eyes never leaving Picard's face. He kept one hand securely on the older man's shoulder, hoping that his touch would help pull him back from wherever he was, or at least keep him from slipping further. Picard never moved, never opened his eyes, even though Riker kept talking to him, kept reassuring him that everything would be all right, that Beverly would be there soon.

_Please, Beverly, be here soon._

As if in answer to Poker's silent plea, the door hissed open and closed behind him, and he glanced back, sighing with relief at the sight of the doctor.

"Will, what is-" She stopped when she saw the two of them, her eyes focusing on Picard. _Jean-Luc. No. _Somehow, instinctively, she knew he wasn't injured, knew that it was something else. Something worse. She moved over to the two men slowly. "How long has he been like this?"

Riker shook his head. "I'm not sure. Deanna left him about an hour ago. I thought he needed some time alone. That's why I waited to come in here." He looked back at the captain's huddled form. "I shouldn't have," he murmured, remorse and guilt edging his voice. / _shouldn't have let him go._

"It's not your fault, Will," Crusher said, stepping closer to them. "I spoke to Deanna in Sickbay after her session with him. She didn't sense this approaching. And there's no way you could have predicted it. But I should have."

Riker cut his eyes back up at her. 'You act like you know what's wrong."

She nodded. "I might. Let me get in there next to him."

Due to the angle of Picard's body in front of the viewport, it was easier to sit to the left of him, and so Riker moved back, releasing his hold on the man's shoulder. Crusher took his place, setting her medical kit on the floor beside her.

"Jean-Luc?" she whispered, her hand softly touching the back of his neck.

He didn't move.

She took a tricorder from her coat pocket, ran it over him and studied the results. She frowned slightly, then put the instrument away.

"Jean-Luc, it's Beverly." She took her other hand and cupped it under his chin. 'You're all right. You're safe." Carefully, she pushed his head away from the window, and then wedged half her body in front of his, so that she was sitting between him and the viewport. She placed her hands on his cheeks, held his face steady, her fingers reaching up, massaging his temples. "Open your eyes, Jean-Luc." She felt the facial muscles beneath her palms spasm and his lower lip trembled. She knew he was terrified, too afraid to let anything else into his mind right now. _What you can't see can't hurt you. _She lowered his head back to her shoulder, her hand gently stroking his hair.

Picard still didn't open his eyes, but Riker thought he saw him move, thought he saw tight, tense muscles relax, the captain's body melting into Crusher's, sagging against her. The doctor wrapped an arm around his back and held him.

"Beverly?" Riker was still kneeling on the floor, just a few feet from them. "What's wrong with

him?"

Crusher drew in a deep breath and stared at the first officer over Picard's shoulder. "After the Borg, during his recovery, he experienced several instances of post traumatic shock. Moments, sometimes hours, when he would cut himself off mentally from the world around him, retreat into his mind, find a...safer place for him to be. During those times, he was virtually unresponsive. He was awake, and yet he wasn't. Of course, when he did sleep, there were still the nightmares." _Always nightmares._

Riker hesitated for a moment and stared at the man in Crusher's arms. He shook his head in confusion. "Beverly, I read all of your reports about the captain's injuries sustained during his ordeal with the Borg, both physical and mental. Why didn't I know about this...post traumatic shock?"

Crusher closed her eyes for a moment, strengthened her hold on Picard, then looked back at Riker. "Will, I didn't include everything in those reports."

Beverly-"

"It's in his personal medical files. It's not like I tried to conceal anything about his condition during that time, I just didn't include everything in the reports that were sent to the Starfleet Review Board." She sighed. 'There was no need to detail every minute of his recovery. The important thing is that he did recover. And he will this time." _He will._

Riker sat back on his heels, steepled his hands in front of his face and ran them down over his beard as he exhaled deeply. "If this is post traumatic shock. Isn't there the possibility that it could be something else? Something to do with the drugs and the nerve damage you spoke of earlier?"

Crusher nodded. "It could be. Unfortunately, there's really no way of knowing for sure in a case like this. There are tests that I can run, but the results are often inconclusive. Mental and emotional shock, of any kind, regardless of the cause, affects each person differently. My only concern is that..." Her voice trailed off, and she lowered her eyes, resting her cheek against the top of Picard's head.

"What?" Riker leaned toward her. _Tell me._

"The nerve damage could intensify the shock. This time it could take him longer to overcome it."

"And what if he doesn't?"

He will.

"Beverly-"

She looked up at Riker, blue eyes keen and sharp with a mixture of anger and fear. "He'll be all right, Will. Just trust me." _He has to be._

He reached out and touched her hand which rested on Picard's neck. "I trust you, Beverly." And then he stood up. "I'll go out to the bridge and activate an intra-ship transport from here to Sickbay."

"No." She shook her head. "Not Sickbay. His cabin." "Didn't you say there were tests that needed to be run?"

'Yes. But I don't have to be in Sickbay to do them." She fixed a steady gaze on Riker. "Please, Will, the fewer people who know about this, the better. When it's all over, I don't want Starfleet demanding that he go through competency testing, do you? Not again." Unconsciously, she began to rock Picard gently in her arms. "Never again." _Never._

Riker nodded and turned to leave the room. "I'll transport you directly to his quarters."

'Thank you," Crusher said, her voice suddenly quiet, having lost some of the hard determination. 'Tell Deanna to meet us there."

~vVv~

They materialized on the floor at the foot of Picard's bed, and as he solidified in her arms she felt his hands reach out and take hold of her waist, squeezing tightly in fear at the unexpected sensation of the transporter beam. She could feel his heart beating rapidly against her chest, almost in tandem with her own. She placed her cheek next to his and whispered into his ear. "Shh. It's all right, Jean-Luc." She began the rocking motion again, hoping the rhythm would calm him. 'You can open your eyes."

The room around them was bathed in gray shadows, and Crusher didn't call for the lights. Soft, muted tones were what he needed now, nothing bright or harsh. Her cheek felt the slight movement of his face as his eyelids fluttered open. 'That's it, Jean-Luc. You're in your own bedroom now." She drew away from him slightly, just enough to look at him without letting go.

Vacant, green eyes stared back at her.

"Hey there," she said quietly. "I knew you were listening to me." She touched her hand to his forehead, then his cheek. His face held no expression. "How do you feel?" she asked, even though she knew he wouldn't answer. And he didn't. "Let's get up off the floor, all right?" She started to pull away from him in order to stand, but desperately his arms enfolded her, and he buried his head against her shoulder.

She breathed deeply and held him for several long moments; she could feel the wet warmth of tears on her neck. She rocked him tenderly for a while longer, and then tried to stand up again. This time, he stood with her, but he didn't let go.

She pulled away from him gently and took one of his hands in hers. "I'm not going anywhere. Jean-Luc. I promise. You don't have to hold on so tight." She led him over to the side of the bed, and he followed like a sleepy child. "Now, you sit down, and I'll get you some pajamas. You'll feel better once you're in bed." Reluctantly, he sat, though his hand still grasped hers firmly. Crusher sighed. She wasn't going to get much done if he wouldn't let go of her.

Just then, she heard the sound of the door opening, and she glanced over her shoulder. She saw Deanna Troi stop in the bedroom doorway at the same time she felt Picard tighten his grip around her hand.

"Beverly, what can I do?" Troi asked, realizing that Picard's immediate needs had to be taken care of before she and Crusher could discuss the best possible treatment for him.

"I'm going to try and get him in bed; see if I can get him to sleep for a little while. Could you find his pajamas while I undress him?"

"Of course," Troi answered, crossing over to the chest of drawers on the opposite side of the bedroom.

Crusher smiled down at Picard. He was staring up at her, his eyes fastened to her face. "It's all right," she assured him as she pried his fingers from her hand. "Let's get you out of this shirt." She reached around and unzipped the back of it, drew it carefully off his shoulders and pulled his arms from the sleeves. She then removed the black T-shirt he wore underneath his uniform. And she winced at the sight of his chest and stomach, still covered with black and blue bruises, dulling in some spots to green and brown.

She'd treated the serious injuries while he'd been in Sickbay, but he'd been in such a hurry to return to duty that she'd released him before giving enough specific attention to less severe problems. _They're just bruises, Beverly, not broken bones. They'll heal. _His words echoed through her mind. _Why did I listen to you? If I'd kept you in Sickbay a little longer, this may not have happened._

"Here." Troi stood at the end of the bed, holding a gray pajama shirt out to her.

Crusher took it, slid Picard's arms into the sleeves and fastened it across his chest. He didn't protest, and she suspected that as long as she was near him, touching him, he would do whatever she asked. She knelt down, slid his boots off his feet, then his socks. She unhooked his trousers and with a little effort, was able to get them pulled down around his hips to his thighs, and then over his knees and off. There were bruises on his legs as well, and they seemed darker in his shadowed bedroom than they had under the bright lights of Sickbay.

Troi handed her the matching pair of pajama shorts, and Crusher quickly finished dressing him, tying the shorts securely around his thin waist. "There, all done." She touched his chin and raised his face so that he was looking at her. "Now, you need a little sleep." She turned down the covers and helped him into bed. His hand had found hers again, his grip so tight that her fingers were growing numb from the pressure. But she didn't pull away. She sat on the edge of the bed next to him, her other hand stroking his cheek.

'Thanks. Deanna," she smiled up at the woman standing beside her. "I'll sit with him until he falls asleep. **I **don't want to sedate him right now."

Troi returned the smile, reaching out and squeezing Crusher's shoulder comfortingly. "I'll be in the other room," she said and quietly left.

Crusher watched her go, then turned her gaze back to Picard. He was lying still under the blankets, staring up at her, eyes wide. Gently, she brushed her fingers up over his forehead, rubbing his face softly. "Everything's all right, Jean-Luc. You're going to be fine. You just need a little rest." She didn't know if he understood her words, but at least he knew she was there with him.

His hand tightened even more around hers. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." Picard took a deep shuddering breath, and Crusher wiped the tears from around his eyes. "I'm right here, Jean-Luc. Right here."

She sat with him until he fell asleep, on the edge of the bed beside him, her hand holding his as his fingers relaxed, and his breathing slowed and steadied, growing deeper. His other hand rubbed up over his chest, over his heart, over the place where the electrode had been. He groaned.

"Shh," Crusher soothed, pulling her hand from his limp fingers.

He shifted in his sleep, one hand resting on his chest, the other curled against his neck. Crusher leaned over and kissed his cheek, then carefully got up from the bed. He stirred again, but didn't wake. With a sigh of relief, she quietly left the room.

~vVv~


	6. Chapter 6

Crusher emerged from the bedroom with a backward glance over her shoulder, a slight smile lighting her eyes and face. He looked so peaceful, and yet, she knew he could awaken at any moment, screaming in terror.

"How is he?" Troi asked from where she was sitting on the sofa.

"Sleeping. Finally." Crusher sank down beside the counselor.

They were silent for a moment, and then Troi spoke. "I'm sorry, Beverly. I...I didn't realize this was going to happen. When I talked with him, I knew the memories he was dealing with were difficult. But...he seemed in control." _I_ _didn't know._

Crusher shook her head. "No, Deanna. It's not your fault. I shouldn't have released him from Sickbay."_ I_ _shouldn't have left him._

Troi glanced toward the bedroom door. "It's worse this time, isn't it?" She'd been there as well, during the long weeks after the Borg.

"I think it will be." Crusher took a trembling breath. "The nerve damage along the synaptic receptors in the brain could very well intensify his symptoms. And I haven't been able to determine the complete effect the Cardassian drugs had on his system."

"So what he's experiencing may be as physiological as it is psychological."

'Yes." Crusher ran her hand over her face and rubbed at her eyes. "That's why I'm hesitant to give him any drugs. I don't want to sedate him."

Troi's eyebrows arched with concern. She remembered the last time, the nightmares, the outbursts. They'd barely been able to restrain him, wouldn't have been able to without sedation.

Crusher sighed. "I know. It could be difficult. But I think with both of us here, we'll be able to handle him."

"Beverly..."

The doctor's eyes flashed possessively. "And if not, we can call Will or Data. I don't want anyone else involved." _Please._

"I understand." Troi smiled faintly at her. "Why don't you get some rest here on the sofa?" She stood and took a step toward the bedroom. "I'll keep an eye on him."

"No, Deanna,-" Crusher started to protest. _I_ _can't._

"Beverly, he's sleeping now, and he's going to need you more when he wakes up. I'll call you before then if we need you." _I will._

Crusher got to her feet. "No. I want to sit with him."_ I_ _have to. _She touched Troi on the arm. "But thank you." She went over to the shelf behind the desk and took down a book. "Besides, I've been wanting to read this one."

Troi stepped over to her and looked at the cover. "_The Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire_?"

Crusher smiled. "Just a little light reading."

~vVv~

"Beverly?" _Four...lights._

She jumped at the sound of his voice and looked up from the book on her lap. He was awake, staring at her, confusion clouding his eyes. His breathing was slow and even, although she could sense that his heart was beating at a nervous rate, pulsing, racing. She moved from the chair she was sitting in to the side of his bed.

He blinked at her and swallowed. "Beverly?" he whispered again.

"I'm here," she rubbed his cheek, reassuring him of her presence. "You're going to be fine." _Just fine._

He closed his eyes and released a heavy sigh. _Lights..._

He was aware of his surroundings, she could tell. She'd been expecting nightmares, screaming and tears, but he was lucid now. For how long, she wasn't sure.

He looked back at her. "How did I get here?"

"Will had you transported directly from your ready room."

"I... I don't remember." His eyes searched hers, tears gathering in their green depths. "I can't..." His voice shook, his head tossing on the pillow. Beverly... _Four lights. Four lights..._

"Shh, Jean-Luc." She ran her hand over his forehead and smiled down at him. "I know everything seems confused right now. You've been through a lot. It's all right to want to hide from what you're feeling." _It's all right._

He swallowed again, starting to cry, softly at first, and then louder, stronger, tears coursing down his cheeks. _There are... five lights._

Crusher leaned over and gathered him into her arms, holding his trembling body close to her. "I'm here, Jean-Luc. I'm here."

~vVv~

When the crying subsided, Picard lay quietly in Crusher's arms, cradled securely in her embrace like a frightened child. His eyes were still open, but she knew he wasn't there. Not really.

Tenderly, she dried the tears from his cheeks with her fingertips. He stared up at her, eyelashes dark and damp, and he yawned. She pulled him further onto her lap and began to rock him, slowly, singing a song she'd sung to Wesley years ago. The words came back to her, instantly, as did the feelings: warm, maternal.

She stroked his face, kissed his forehead. With a shuddering breath, the tension in his body relaxed and he curled closer to her, eyes closing. With a sigh of her own, Crusher leaned over and rested her cheek on the top of his head. The words of the song faded into a soft hum, a soothing murmur. And she held him for a long time.

~vVv~

She woke to the touch of someone's hand on her shoulder and slowly opened her eyes. Deanna Troi was standing there, but Picard was gone.

"Jean-Luc?" she gasped. _No..._

"He's all right." Troi smiled reassuringly. "He's in the next room. He wandered in there about fifteen minutes ago. I thought you might need the rest, so I gave him a bowl of soup and let you sleep a while longer."

Crusher sighed and brushed her hair back from her face. "How is he?" She asked, but she knew already.

"Quiet. A little frightened. But hungry. I had to help him, but he managed to eat most of his soup."

"What's he doing now?"

"Sitting on the sofa watching the holoviewer."

Crusher stared past the counselor. "When he first woke up, he knew where he was; he knew me. Now..." _He doesn't even know himself._

"Beverly." Troi sat down beside her. 'You know it's going to take some time. He could drift in and out like this for days."

"I know. It just... It feels different this time. After the Borg, he seemed to be fighting the memories, but now... He's giving into them. As if he's powerless against them."

"I'm sure he feels that way." Troi was silent for a moment. "And what are you feeling?"

"Deanna..." Crusher shook her head and started to stand. _Not now._

Troi caught her arm. "Beverly, it's not your fault. You and Worf did the only thing you could have done."

Crusher froze. "No. We didn't. We could have gone back for him."

"And been captured as well?"

Crusher stared into her friend's eyes. "I...I don't know. I just feel responsible."

"We all do. Will blames himself. I blame myself. So does Worf. And Captain Jellico."

Crusher frowned at the name, looking doubtful.

"Yes, even Jellico. But we know where the blame really lies."

"And we can't do a thing about it," Crusher replied bitterly.

"Beverly, we're doing what we need to be doing right now." _All we can do._

Crusher felt tears sting her eyes, and she tried to blink them away. "I look at him, and...it just hurts. How much more can he take?" _How much?_

Troi took hold of her hand. "He's strong, and he has us." _We're here. _"He's not alone."

Crusher looked over at the counselor. "But he feels like he is."

Troi nodded. "But he's not. He needs this time, Beverly. We have to give it to him."

"It's just..." She gasped. "Oh, Deanna."

Troi let go of Crusher's hand and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "It's all right."

"Why Jean-Luc?" The tears began to flow freely down the doctor's face. "Why?" She tried to stop crying, found that she couldn't, and gave into the sobs.

Troi continued to hold her, whispering words of assurance, knowing that Beverly Crusher also needed this time - to cry, to mourn. Long minutes passed, and the two women sat with their heads lowered, neither realizing that someone else had entered the room until they heard a voice, low and hesitant.

"Don't...don't cry."

They both looked up. Picard stood just inside the doorway, staring at them, scared and confused by the doctor's tears.

"Jean-Luc," Crusher said, quickly rubbing at her eyes.

He walked over and knelt on the floor in front of her. His arms encircled her waist, and he quietly laid his head on her lap. "Shh, don't cry," he murmured. "Don't cry."

Crusher sighed and rubbed her hands over his back, lovingly returning his embrace. She glanced over at Troi.

"Hold him, Beverly," the counselor whispered. "Just hold him as long as he'll let you."

~vVv~


	7. Chapter 7

Picard fell asleep with his head on Crusher's lap, his body molding against her legs. Troi took a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders.

Later, when Will Riker entered the captain's quarters, he found Crusher and Troi talking quietly while Picard slept.

"Hello, Will," Troi greeted him.

Riker stood in the bedroom doorway. "How is everything?" he asked, looking uncertainly at the captain.

Crusher smiled. "Everything's fine right now," she answered, rubbing her hand over Picard's shoulder.

"Can I help you get him into bed?" Riker inquired, stepping over to them.

Crusher nodded. "Please."

Riker leaned over and put one arm around Picard's back, the other under his legs. Carefully, he lifted his captain, cradling him against his chest. Picard's head nestled on Riker's shoulder, and he sighed in his sleep.

Crusher and Troi got up from the side of the bed, and Riker lowered the sleeping man onto it. This was the second time in the past few days that he had held Picard, and the realization of how light and fragile he was frightened him. The Cardassians had starved and beaten the captain, and now, even though they had Picard back, he was still wrestling with his memory of their torture. They were all wrestling with the memory.

Troi motioned for Riker to follow her into the next room, and silently they left. Crusher leaned over, tucked the blankets around Picard, and kissed him lightly on the forehead before joining them.

"Deanna said he was aware of his surroundings for a little while." Riker spoke to Crusher as she walked over and sat down in a chair opposite the first officer.

She nodded. "For just a while."

"It is going to take time," Troi said, echoing the words she'd spoken to Crusher earlier.

"How much time?" Riker asked, looking from the counselor to the doctor. He hated playing Devil's Advocate, but he was the one who'd have to deal with Starfleet sooner or later. Preferably later.

Crusher rubbed her hands together in her lap. "Can you give us a week?"

Riker shook his head. "I'll give you all the time that I can, but I have a feeling that Starfleet's going to want to talk to him before then."

"But they already have his mission report," Crusher said.

"I know. But now that Jellico's gone, they're going to want a captain to talk to, someone to answer their questions. I can't put them off, Beverly."

She flipped a strand of auburn hair back over her shoulder. "Then you direct them to me. I'll put them off."

"Beverly," Troi said softly.

"Deanna!" She turned on the counselor. "We can't let them know. Not yet. We have to give him that time he needs. You said so yourself." _He has to have time._

Troi sighed.

"Deanna?" she prodded.

The counselor looked at Riker. "She's right, Will. If Starfleet were aware of his present condition, they'd insist on a psychiatric profile and a competency test. And he wouldn't be able to pass them. At least, not now."

_Hell. _"Then what do I tell them?"

"Tell them he's resting. Doctor's orders."

"And if he's not better in a week?"

Crusher took a deep breath. "I'll make an official report to Starfleet Medical. And then take it from there."

Riker nodded. "All right." He got up from the sofa just as a scream ripped through the cabin.

The three of them rushed into the next room. Picard was sitting straight up in bed, eyes wide, breathing heavily.

Crusher positioned herself in front of him, quickly placing her hands on his cheeks. They were hot and feverish. "Jean-Luc." Her voice was firm. "Jean-Luc." _Look at me._

Picard seemed to see her then, but instead of recognition, there was only terror. He pushed at her violently, his fist catching her on the jaw. Crusher toppled back, feeling Troi grab hold of her in support.

Without hesitating, Riker crawled onto the bed and wrapped his arms around the captain. Picard struggled against him, crying and screaming, his head tossing. Crusher climbed back up next to him and took hold of his head again. At the foot of the bed, Troi clamped her hands around Picard's legs, trying to keep them from kicking.

"I don't want to sedate him," Crusher shouted above the screaming. "Just hold onto him. He should tire himself out."

A few minutes later, Picard's entire body suddenly relaxed. But Riker and Troi didn't release him.

"Beverly?" Riker looked over at the doctor.

She was gently stroking Picard's tear stained cheeks. "I think you can let go now."

They did, and Picard immediately began trembling. His skin and pajamas were soaked with sweat. Crusher gathered him into her arms, pulling a blanket around him. "Deanna, will you run a hot bath for him, please?"

"Of course," she answered, disappearing into the bathroom. "Do you want me to help you get his pajamas off?" Riker asked.

Crusher shook her head. "No. He's already chilled. I'll take them off after we get him in the tub. I'll just need you to carry him in there."

Once more, Riker picked the captain up in his arms and strode into the bathroom with him. Picard whimpered as he was lowered into the hot water.

"It's all right, Jean-Luc," Crusher soothed, her hand on his shoulder. She knelt down on the floor next to the tub, and keeping one arm around Picard at all times, she removed his wet pajamas, then handed the clothing to Troi.

The counselor took it. "Beverly, Will and I are going to change the sheets on his bed, and then we'll leave. I think Jean-Luc will feel better with just you here."

Picard's head was leaning back against Crusher's arm, and she softly traced her fingers over his cheek. "I think so, too. I'll contact you if I need any help getting him out."

Riker and Troi left, and Crusher turned her attention back to Picard. "You're all right," she whispered, taking a washcloth and rubbing it over his shoulders and chest. _You're all right. _He relaxed even more at her touch, and the trembling stopped as the hot water warmed his body.

He reached up and tentatively touched a strand of Crusher's hair. _Four lights. _"Beverly?" And suddenly, he was back again, aware of her.

"Jean-Luc?" She held her hand to his cheek.

He swallowed convulsively. "I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm so...much trouble."

"No, you're not trouble."

"Why...why am I in the bathtub?"

Crusher couldn't help but smile at the look of acute discomfort on his face. "You had the chills. And since I don't want to give you any drugs right now, it was the best old-fashioned method I could think of to get your fever down." She wiped at the lingering drops of perspiration on his brow. "Do you want to get out now?"

"No," he answered drowsily, "feels good."

"Don't fall asleep on me," she warned.

"Why not?"

"Because I think your first officer is getting tired of picking you up." She felt his body tense.

"Picking me up?"

"Never mind. Jean-Luc. Just relax."

He sighed and squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. Four lights danced in his mind. _Four lights...four lights. _He looked back up at her. "Everything... so confused," he murmured.

"It won't stay that way," she replied, gently beginning to bathe him again.

He shifted slightly in her arms. "Beverly..." _No..._

_Yes. _"Jean-Luc, it's all right," she assured him. "I'm your doctor."

~vVv~

Picard remained alert throughout the rest of his bath, accepting of Crusher's tender ministrations, although she wasn't sure if it were embarrassment or the warm water that caused his cheeks to flush with color. Whatever the reason, she was relieved; anything was better than the pale, ashen cast that had tinted his skin since he'd been returned.

Later, with the doctor's help, he was able to get out of the tub. He stood on trembling legs as she dried him off, then draped a towel around his shoulders before slowly walking him into his bedroom. The hot bath had succeeded in relaxing him, to the point where he felt weak all over. He leaned against her arm, holding on to her hand tightly.

She led him over to the bed, and he sat down on the edge of it, reluctantly letting go of her hand so that she could go and get him some pajamas. He was naked, except for the towel around his shoulders, and that really didn't cover much of him. Crusher was surprised that he now seemed unashamed of his nakedness in front of her, but still, she quickly rummaged through his dresser drawers looking for a pair of clean pajamas.

Behind her, Picard sat motionless, head bent, staring down at his body. Absently, he ran his fingers over the dark bruises on his thighs and stomach. "It hurt," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. _There are...four lights._

Crusher raised her eyes from a half-opened dresser drawer and looked over at him. "I know it did." She didn't know what else to say. Could only agree with him. Could only imagine what he'd been through.

"They kept hitting," he gasped. "And hitting." _Four lights. _He rubbed his hands over his thighs. "Hitting...hitting." He pushed roughly at the bruises now, kneading at them as if he could somehow make them disappear. _Four...lights._

"Jean-Luc!" Crusher was instantly on the floor in front of him, her own hands closing over his, stopping his movement, knowing that the pressure must be painful. "Jean-Luc, it's over." She looked up at his face, into his tear-filled eyes. "It's over, and you're safe." _You're safe._

He made a small crying sound in his throat, a gasp; then he breathed in a strangled gulp of air. The tears slid down over his cheeks, and he leaned toward her. She took him in her arms.

"Beverly...don't leave me," he sobbed into her shoulder. "Don't leave." _The lights...don't leave._

"I won't, Jean-Luc." She softly stroked his shaking, towel-covered back. "I won't." _Not ever. Five lights. Five lights..._

~vVv~

She'd been able to pull a blanket around him to keep him warm, but it was almost half an hour before she was able to release him and go back to the dresser to retrieve a pair of pajamas. She found some with long pants and long sleeves so that he wouldn't have to see the dark bruises that still marred his skin. They would go away, but in the meantime, she didn't want him to be constantly reminded of them.

Upon returning to the bed, she found that he was half asleep, still sitting up, but barely conscious. It was like trying to dress a rag doll as she pushed and pulled his arms and legs into the clothing. Finally, he was dressed, and she got him to lie back on the bed. She then pulled the covers over him.

He turned onto his side, curling around the gathered blankets. His eyes were heavy with sleep, almost shut. He reached a hand out to her, and she grabbed hold of it. She watched as his other hand pushed up next to his face, and his thumb slid between his lips, into his mouth. His eyes fell closed.

Crusher sighed. He'd regressed again, returned to the safe haven of a mental and emotional childhood.

It was then that she realized she was trembling. Just as Picard had been doing earlier. But she wasn't cold. She was scared, terrified. This time it was worse. Much worse. More so than she'd been expecting.

Seven days. Only seven days before she had to decide one way or the other: certify him fit for duty or...or what? Send him to a rehabilitation facility. Never. It was simply not an option. She'd seen him through his recovery from the Borg, and she'd see him through this. It would just take time. Time.

She gazed down at him, softly stroked her fingers over his cheek, could feel the faint sucking motion of his mouth and lips. She'd seen him like this before. After the Borg. Frightened, withdrawn, barely aware of her presence. Like a child, lost, alone; a baby without the precious feeling of security. She was there for him, now, and she would be. But he didn't know that. Not really.

Carefully, she drew her hand away from his, and walked quietly over to the door. She realized that if she were truly going to be there for him, she would have to rest while he slept, conserve her physical energy, for her emotional strength was already drained. The sofa in the next room would have to be her bed for the next week, and she might as well get used to it. But before she left his room, she paused in the doorway and looked back at him. "I'm here, Jean-Luc," she whispered. "I'm here." _Always...here._

~vVv~

He sat in the dark, trembling uncontrollably. _Four lights. _Cold, so cold.

Slowly, he pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his knees. It hurt. So bad.

He began to rock...back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

His pajamas were damp with sweat; they clung to his body. And he'd wet the bed.

Again.

He shuddered at the realization, embarrassed by his loss of control. But it wasn't the first time. Hardly. So many, he'd lost count. Just as he'd lost track of the days and nights. They were all the same, one long nightmare, terrifying and interminable.

He continued to rock...back and forth, back and forth.

And he waited.

She didn't come.

He felt tears in his eyes and on his face. _Where is she? She always comes...always._

He stared across the darkened room, lit only by the pale glow of starlight through the viewports. Beyond the open door, he could see a brighter light coming from the next room.

_What if she's not there? What if she's gone?_

The thought hit him hard, and he gasped, strangled around the tight constriction in his throat. The next thought hit him harder.

_What if I'm not here ? What if..._

"Beverly?" he screamed, closing his eyes, his hands knotting into fists around the material of his pajama pants.

"Jean-Luc?" The voice came from the doorway. He didn't look. _What if it's not her?_

"Jean-Luc, it's all right." The bed moved. She crawled up beside him and drew his body into her arms.

He was stiff and unyielding. _What if it's not her?_

"Jean, I'm here." Her hand began to caress his cheeks and forehead, gently wiping away the mingled sweat and tears.

His breaths came in labored gasps. _What if it's not her?_

"You're all right," she whispered, pressing her lips to his ear, murmuring words of assurance. "I'm here. You're home. It's me, Beverly."

_Beverly._

He opened his eyes, stared up at her, red strands of hair framing her face. He unclenched one fist, and tentatively raised his fingers to her cheek, touched her. Soft, warm...

"Beverly?" he breathed, and relaxed into her arms, allowing her to cradle him close, rock him gently...back and forth, back and forth.

"It's all right, Jean-Luc."

"I'm...I'm really home?"

"Yes." She strengthened her hold on him. "You're really home." _There are four lights._

~vVv~


	8. Chapter 8

For the next few days, he drifted, in and out of awareness. At times, he was almost himself, impatient with his situation, annoyed by Crusher's close supervision. And then, a nightmare would come, and he would pull back, hide in a safe corner of his mind while she held him.

By the third day, he'd regained enough mental control to begin talking with Deanna Troi, short sessions which usually left him exhausted and in need of a nice, long nap. But it was progress, Beverly Crusher reminded herself as she set a plate of tuna sandwiches on the coffee table. And every little step counted.

"Jean-Luc," she called into the bedroom, "Deanna will be here in a few minutes. I've put some sandwiches out. I thought she might like to have lunch with us."

There was no response, but a few moments later, Picard appeared in the doorway, a wrinkled robe pulled on over his pajamas. He had expressed no desire to wear anything else, and that in itself worried Crusher. But she didn't mention it; she was just relieved that most of the time he'd dress himself. When he was ready to wear something else, he would.

She smiled at him. No one else would have noticed, but she could tell he'd combed his hair. And probably washed his face; he looked a little damp around the edges.

He hesitated in the doorway. "Deanna's coming?"

'Yes," Crusher nodded and went over to the replicator. 'You remember, she came this morning before your nap, and she said she'd be back when you woke up." She looked at the wall unit. "Three cups of soup. Tomato," she instructed.

A tray appeared with three mugs on it, and she picked it up, taking it back to the coffee table. "And now you're awake." She set the soup down beside the sandwiches, and then patted the sofa. "Come on over here and sit down. Have something to eat. I know you must be hungry. You didn't eat any breakfast." Actually, he wouldn't eat any breakfast. No matter how hard she'd tried to get him to.

He stared at her for a moment and then came slowly to the sofa, sitting down right where she'd indicated. She sat beside him.

'Tuna fish," he said dully, looking at the plate of sandwiches. _Always tuna fish._

'You like tuna fish," she reminded him, taking a sandwich and handing it to him. She placed a napkin and a smaller plate on his lap.

Picard took a bite, chewed slowly, then set it back down. He handed the plate back to her. "Jean-Luc, you have to eat something," she sighed.

He shook his head. "Not hungry." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his chin propped in one hand. He rubbed at his eyes. "I don't...I don't want to talk to Deanna."

Crusher set the plate on the table, then put her hand on his shoulder. "But you need to talk about what happened to you."

He shrugged slightly. "I was held captive by the Cardassians, and then they let me go. What else is there to say."

'There's a lot more to say, Jean-Luc. They not only held you captive, they tortured you, both physically and mentally." She said the words strongly, for if he weren't reminded of the facts, Picard would eventually convince himself that it hadn't happened, only to have mental and emotional repercussions in the future.

"But why do I have to talk about it?" He looked over at her, his eyes glistening with tears. _Why Beverly?_

She moved her hand from his shoulder to his cheek. "You know why, Jean-Luc. You can't carry these memories alone. And Deanna and I want to help you. Please, let us." _Please Jean-Luc.._

Just then, the entry chime sounded, and they both glanced over at the door. "Shall I let her in?" Crusher asked softly. Picard sighed. "Do I have a choice?"

She looked back at him. 'Yes, you have a choice. I'm not going to make you do anything you're not ready to do."

He smiled slightly. 'Thanks." Then he took a deep breath. "You can let her in."

Crusher stood, but her eyes were still fastened to his. 'You're sure?"

He nodded. 'Yes. Besides, I don't think it will look good to have the ship's counselor loitering around the captain's door. People will begin to talk."

Crusher took a step toward the door.

"If they haven't already," he mumbled, lowering his head back to his hands.

She stopped. "Jean-Luc, the crew knows you're recovering from injuries sustained while you were held captive by the Cardassians. And that's all they know. Only .Will, Deanna and I know how difficult these past few days have been for you. And we understand."

The door chime sounded again. Crusher went over and touched the wall panel; the door slid open and Troi stepped inside. The door shut behind her.

Troi looked over to where the captain sat, taking note of the bowed head and slumped shoulders. She glanced at Crusher. "He doesn't want to talk to me, does he?" she asked softly.

The doctor shook her head. "Not really. But he's willing to try." Troi smiled slightly. 'That's a good sign."

"I made us some lunch," Crusher said, her voice a little louder so that Picard would hear, "will you join us?"

Troi followed her over to the sitting area. "I'd love to. Thank you," she responded, sitting in a chair opposite Picard.

He still hadn't looked up, his eyes seemingly focused on the plate of tuna sandwiches. Crusher resumed her seat beside him, and then immediately got back up. "I'm not even thinking, we've got sandwiches and soup, but nothing to drink." She went over to the replicator, returning with a tray holding three glasses of milk. Setting the tray on the coffee table, she picked up one of the glasses. Then, taking one of Picard's hands from his forehead, she wrapped his fingers around the glass. "At least drink something, Jean-Luc."

He slowly looked up at her, raised his head and tightened his grip on the milk glass. 'Yes, ma'am," he agreed, obediently taking a drink, and then lowering the glass.

Crusher sank down next to him, frowning slightly when she realized that one sip was all he was going to take. Her frown turned to a smile when she noticed the small, white mustache the milk had left on his upper lip.

"Jean-Luc," she murmured, handing him a napkin from the coffee table. He took it, hesitated, then sighed as he scrubbed it over his mouth.

No one said anything.

Troi allowed the silence to stretch for several long, awkward minutes. Crusher took a sip of her soup and a bite of her sandwich, but Picard merely stared at the glass of milk in his hand before setting it on the table in front of him. The doctor started to say something, but changed her mind. The captain seemed to focus all of his attention on the tops of his knees.

Finally, Troi spoke. "Beverly says you've been sleeping better."

He nodded without looking up at her. _That was true. _His morning nap had been free of any nightmares. No Cardassians or Borg. Only dark sleep. He shuddered slightly. _Almost too dark. Except for the lights._

'That's good," Troi continued.

"But I thought..." This time he raised his eyes and glanced over at Crusher. He hesitated. "What Jean-Luc?" the doctor asked.

"I assumed...you'd been giving me some sort of sedative to help me sleep." Crusher shook her head. "Not for the past three days."

A look of mild satisfaction passed over his face, then quickly disappeared. "I...I can't remember everything that's happened. It's like...after..." The lines of his face tightened with the memory. "After the...Borg."

Crusher immediately reached out and placed her hand on his arm. 'Yes, Jean-Luc, we know. Do you remember what Deanna and I told you about your recovery from the Borg?"

He drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, his eyes roaming over the room, then focusing on Troi, shifting back to Crusher. 'Yes," he murmured, shaking his head. "Some sort of... Episodes of..." He rubbed his hand over his forehead, squeezing his eyes closed.

"It's post traumatic shock, Jean-Luc," Crusher supplied the correct terminology. It was only fair that Picard be allowed to know what he was dealing with. There were already far too many dark secrets in his mind.

'Yes," he opened his eyes and swallowed hard. "I remember." He looked back at Crusher. "I can't...I can't consciously control the episodes because it's my mind's way of dealing with psychological trauma." The expression on his face seemed to be seeking the doctor's confirmation.

'That's right," she agreed. "And in this case, the drugs and the implant that the Cardassians used have caused some neurological damage as well."

Picard stiffened at her words. Crusher could feel the muscles under her hand grow tense. She rubbed her fingers along his arm. "But, you're already improving."

"How do I know when I'm well?" he asked, his eyes fastened on hers.

"How did you know when you were recovered from the Borg?" Troi countered.

Picard glanced in her direction, a sudden, crooked smile slightly lifting the corners of his mouth. "Who ever said that I knew?"

"Captain," Troi sighed.

He shook his head. "All right. The nightmares stopped... I felt stronger, more in control... And you and Beverly finally stopped sleeping on my sofa." He returned his gaze to Crusher. "And that hasn't happened yet."

Crusher smiled. "No, not yet. But you are improving. You slept this morning without any nightmares, didn't you?"

He nodded.

'You haven't had a regressive traumatic episode in almost three days. And the fact that you're sitting here discussing this with me and Deanna proves that you're regaining control of the situation."

"But I'm not well yet, am I?" His voice was low, strained, knowing the answer already. "What do you think?" Crusher asked quietly.

"I think... I think I still have a roommate for a couple of more days." He took note of the doctor's grin. "But don't get too comfortable. I plan on recovering completely."

'That's good, Captain," Troi spoke up. 'That's exactly what Beverly and I are planning on as well. Now, tell me the first thing that happened after the Cardassians took you prisoner?"

Picard grimaced. "I told you that this morning."

Troi nodded. "I know. Tell me again."

He felt as if the lights would never go away.

It wasn't a nightmare that had awakened him. It wasn't really anything at all. But he was awake. And the room was dark. And he felt very alone.

Kicking the covers back, he swung his legs out of the bed and stood up. He crossed over to the door, looked out into the living area. Beverly Crusher was curled on the sofa, sleeping quietly. He went and sat down in a chair next to her.

There were more viewports here, and the room was lit with stars. In the silver light, Picard could see Crusher's delicate features quite clearly: high cheek bones, tapering nose, eyebrows gently arched. Her shoulders rose evenly with each breath, and he envied her peaceful sleep. His nightmares may have been gone, but he doubted that he would ever sleep so peacefully himself. But even that was a return to normalcy. Ever since the Borg, his sleep had never been peaceful. Only adequate.

Crusher stirred, and her eyes opened. "Jean-Luc?" She sat up immediately, reaching out to

him.

Picard took hold of her hand. "I'm fine, Beverly."

She heard, and felt, the slight tremor that ran through his voice and body. "Are you sure?" He nodded. 'Yes. I...I woke up."

Crusher pulled her legs off the sofa, taking the blanket with her. She patted the place next to her.

Picard moved from the chair to sit beside her, the cushions warm from her body. He sighed as she draped an arm around his back. It was nice having her here.

"Are you having trouble sleeping?"

"No. No nightmares, just..."

"Just what?"

He sighed again. "Just...lonely," he admitted.

Crusher drew him closer to her, her hand gently pressing his head to her shoulder. He allowed it to rest against her.

"I'm still here, Jean," she whispered, her fingers stroking his cheek. _Still here._

Crusher awoke the next morning to the sound of Picard in the bathroom. He wasn't singing, but the sound of running water was music to her ears none the less. This was the first time he'd arisen of his own accord, and the first time he'd taken a bath without her helping him or suggesting he do so. She smiled and got up off the sofa, pulling her robe on over her nightgown. Stepping over to the replicator, she set about preparing breakfast.

Ten minutes later, Picard emerged from his bedroom. Crusher looked up from the table and was surprised to see him dressed in a pair of tan trousers and a dark green shirt.

"Good morning," she greeted him. 'You're looking handsome this morning."

Picard smiled self-consciously, his cheeks blushing from the compliment.

"I feel underdressed compared to you." she continued, glancing down at her robe.

He walked over to her and sank down into one of the chairs at the table. Folding his hands in front of him, he stared intently at his fingers, as they knotted together, relaxed, then knotted together again. He shook his head. "No, you're fine. I've just been... severely underdressed for the past four days. I thought it was time I wore something else besides those damned pajamas." He looked up at her reaction.

Crusher frowned slightly. "Well, I will miss them, Jean-Luc. I'd gotten terribly used to them myself."

He sighed exhaustively. "Beverly..." There was a distinct warning in his voice, a touch of the old Picard.

Crusher smiled with relief and turned back to the replicator. "Are you ready for breakfast?" she asked.

"Please," he replied, taking a napkin and unfolding it in his lap.

She placed a plate in front of him: a croissant and strawberry preserves. Then a glass of orange juice, and a bowl of oatmeal.

He looked up at her. "Oatmeal? Again?"

"It's good for you," she insisted, sitting down across from him with her own plate.

"I'm getting a bit tired of it." He took a bite of his croissant and chewed slowly.

Crusher cheered inwardly. Complaining about food was a good sign. He hadn't cared for the first few days, had barely been able to feed himself, let alone complain about the menu.

"Eat it, Jean-Luc, and, I promise, tomorrow I won't make you."

'Yes, ma'am," he agreed, dipping his spoon into the bowl and taking a healthy bite. He swallowed convulsively. Oatmeal wasn't one of his favorites. He took a sip of orange juice to wash it down. "Speaking...of tomorrow," he began slowly, searching for the correct words, "perhaps...it would be better if I had breakfast... alone." He leveled his eyes on Crusher, seeing her blink with surprise.

She started to protest. "Jean-Luc, I don't think it would be..."

"Beverly," he cut her off, "I've been sleeping without any nightmares for the past...well, almost four days. You said yourself that I haven't experienced any...relapses in just as long." He drew in a deep breath. "I'm not asking to return to duty yet. I know I still need some time off. I'm just asking for...some time alone."

Crusher stared at him for long moments before responding. "What about last night? You woke up-"

"Not from a nightmare," he interjected.

"No, but you said yourself that you were lonely, and now you're asking for time alone."

Picard leaned back from the table and rubbed his fingers over his forehead. "I know it doesn't seem to make much sense, but I...I don't want..."

'To become dependent on me," Crusher finished his sentence.

In the silence that followed, their eyes met, and all the confirmation either of them needed was in that shared gaze.

"I understand," she murmured. And she did. All too well. She'd understood Picard for a long time now. They were close, but when he had a choice, not too close.

"If I need you, I'll call," he volunteered.

"Oh, don't worry, I plan on checking on you occasionally."

"I felt sure you would."

"And Deanna will still want to meet with you. We both will. For several more days." "I know."

Crusher stared down at her plate. "Would you mind if I finished my breakfast before I left?" "I insist that you do," Picard answered.

She took a bite of her croissant, smiling at his desire for independence despite her concerns.

"And Beverly," he added, with a definite glint in his eyes, "you might want to change your clothes before you go. What would people think if they saw you leaving the captain's quarters in your pajamas?"


	9. Chapter 9

His morning passed uneventfully. He read for a while, then caught up on the ship's logs, even played his flute. He didn't allow himself to think or worry too much about his mental health. Between Troi and Crusher, there were enough people worried about it. He'd been in this situation before, only worse. After the Borg. And he'd survived, found his way back. And he would this time, too. For a fleeting moment, he found himself wondering about the next time.

And then the door chime sounded.

He glanced at the chronometer on his desk. 1100 hours. Too early to be Troi; he wasn't expecting her until noon. Probably not Crusher. In spite of her tendency to coddle him, she always respected his privacy when he requested it. As long as it didn't interfere with his health.

The chime sounded again.

One way to settle the mystery. "Come," he called, turning in his chair as the door to the left of his desk slid open.

Will Riker's broad shoulders filled the entryway. "Captain?" he inquired before stepping inside.

"Come in, Will," Picard invited again, sensing his first officer's hesitancy.

Riker entered, just enough for the doors to slide closed behind him. Picard stood and gestured toward the sitting area. "Please, have a seat," he offered.

The two men settled onto the furniture, Riker on the sofa, Picard in the opposite chair. For a moment they said nothing, just eyed each other appraisingly.

"You're looking good, sir," Riker finally observed. Much better than the last time he'd seen him.

"Thank you, Will," Picard responded. _For everything, _he added silently. He continued with a grin. "I've found, in my many years on the _Enterprise, _that if I follow all of Counselor Troi's and Doctor Crusher's instructions, I usually recover from whatever it is I'm suffering from."

Riker returned the grin. "I've found that to be true for me as well," he agreed.

Picard nodded. "How is everything?"

"Just fine. We're proceeding with the mapping of the Chartoff System; haven't found anything unusual. LaForge is taking some time to run a few low maintenance diagnostics. He says everything is falling within expected norms." Riker leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, chin propped on his fist. He pursed his lips slightly as he thought. "Data is taking care of your fish. He's become quite fascinated with them."

"Just as long as he keeps that cat away from them," Picard laughed.

"I'm sure he will," Riker said, pleased to see the captain's sense of humor.

But the levity didn't last long. The lines of Picard's face settled back into a serious expression. "What about Starfleet brass, Number One?"

Riker sighed. "Haven't had to deal with them much. They had a few questions about the mission report. Seemed satisfied with my answers."

"And my medical report?"

The younger man shook his head. "I hate to upset you, sir," he said with mock seriousness, "but they haven't inquired as to the state of your health."

"They haven't?" Picard looked at him uncertainly.

"Not at all. Beverly made a notation that you'd be taking a week off, and they've addressed all inquiries to me."

Picard was silent for a moment. "A week," he finally acknowledged, mulling the time frame over in his mind. Four days of that week had passed, and he was better already. "I trust you'll hold down the fort for another three days."

"It'll be difficult without you, sir, but...we'll manage," Riker smiled.

Picard returned his first officer's look of amusement, but found the prospect of another three days off duty not very amusing at all.

~vVv~

"One can only read so much Shakespeare," Picard groused only half teasing.

"But you like Shakespeare," Troi reminded him.

He settled a weary gaze on her. "I like being the captain of this ship."

"And you still are. You just happen to be a captain who's on leave for a few more days." She took a sip of her hot chocolate, and smiled at Picard over the rim of her cup. "Try not to be too impatient, sir. You've had a rough time. You need some rest. Both physically and mentally."

Picard heaved a sigh and set his own cup of Earl Grey on the coffee table. He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Granted. I've had a rough time. I need some rest. But you know as well as I do, that I can rest more in my ready room than I can sitting around here. I'm not asking to return to duty. I'm just asking to get out of my cabin."

"I agree."

He blinked. "You do?"

"Yes. And I believe I speak for Beverly as well when I say that you most definitely need to get out of your cabin." She leaned back in her chair and smiled again. _Like _a _Cheshire cat, _Picard thought. "How about a nice trip to the arboretum?"

Picard started to say something, thought better of it and gritted his teeth instead.

"Captain," Troi leaned forward, placing a hand on his knee. He jumped slightly at the contact. "You've been through a lot. It would be inadvisable for you to return to duty too soon."

"I didn't say duty, I said my ready room," he countered, grimacing when he detected a note of pleading in his tone.

"Where you would unofficially do the same things you would do if you were on duty." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Captain. Doctor Crusher initially prescribed a week off for you, and I still agree with that prescription."

"And what am I supposed to do with my time?"

Troi laughed softly. Picard never ceased to amaze her. Just a few days ago he could barely make it through the night without the aid of Crusher or her, and now... Now she sensed very little fear in him, only a modicum of doubt. The Borg and the Cardassians could only take so much from Jean-Luc Picard.

"I wouldn't discount the arboretum if I were you," she replied, ignoring his overly dramatic sigh of indignation.

~vVv~

He invited her to dinner. If he hadn't, she would have invited herself. He'd asked her specifically not to wear her uniform. He was tired of feeling examined.

As she sat across from him at the table, he admitted to himself that he had missed her company, although he'd seen her at breakfast, and again after lunch. He'd never realized just how long a day could seem when spent virtually alone in his cabin. Even a three hour nap hadn't helped to alleviate the boredom. He was actually planning a trip to the arboretum in the morning. But for now, he was pleased to have Crusher with him.

"Dinner was wonderful, Jean-Luc," she sighed, taking a sip of her wine. "And you really do seem to be improving."

"Uh-uh," he chided, "this is not an official visit. I allowed you to examine me this afternoon. You've had your chance, now stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like a doctor."

Crusher smiled softly at him. "And how should I look at you?"

Picard returned the smile. "Like a friend." He reached out and touched her other hand that lay on top of the table, squeezed it gently. "A very good friend." He hesitated for a moment, still holding her hand, then he continued. "I want to thank you for all you've done for me."

Crusher started to shake her head. "Jean-Luc, I was-"

"Don't say you were just doing your job."

"But I was."

"Between this experience and my encounter with the Borg, you have done much more than just...your job." His fingers absently stroked the back of her hand. "I don't know what I would have done without you. I'm not sure I..." His shifted his eyes from her face and stared out the viewport. "I'm not sure I would have been able to find my way back if you hadn't been here for me."

Crusher touched his chin with her other hand, turning his face back to her. "I'm glad you let me be here for you. And I always will be...anytime you need me."

The moment was full of too many unspoken words and feelings, and Picard held her gaze for just a bit longer and then let go of her hand and looked away. "I'm glad you were able to come for dinner." He stood up and began to clear away the plates and silverware.

"I wouldn't have missed it." Crusher straightened slightly in her chair. "Especially since I'm not invited for breakfast."

Picard stopped at the food dispenser and turned around. "Beverly, you are more than welcome to come to breakfast, there's just no need for you to sleep on my sofa tonight."

"And I was just getting used to it," she pouted.

"Beverly..."

"I'm teasing, Jean-Luc." She got up from the table and headed toward the door.

"You don't have to leave immediately," Picard sighed, intercepting her with a hand on her arm.

"Yes, I do, because you need your rest." She patted his shoulder, then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll see you in the morning." And then she was gone, the door sliding closed behind her.

Picard's eyes circled his cabin. It always felt the emptiest after Beverly Crusher left.

~vVv~

Picard slept through the night. There were no nightmares, no dreams, no moments of intense fear. In fact, unlike the night before, he didn't wake at all. Not until his chronometer sounded at 0700. He got up, showered, shaved, dressed in some off duty clothing and welcomed Crusher for breakfast an hour later.

He permitted her to examine him with her medical tricorder, and she seemed impressed with his condition. Impressed enough to say that if the rest of the day went well, and if Troi agreed, she just might let him return to limited duty the next day. No more than a couple of hours. But it was better than nothing.

After breakfast, Picard actually took Troi's previous advice about a visit to the arboretum. It was particularly lovely. He seldom took the time to appreciate the _Enterprise's _vast array of plants and flowers collected from the many planets they'd visited.

Afterward, he went to Ten Forward, and as surreptitiously as a captain possibly could, he took a seat at the far end of the bar. A few moments later, Guinan appeared in front of him, a tea cup extended in her hand.

"Thank you," he said quietly, taking the cup from her. He took a sip, savored the taste and the warmth of the Earl Grey.

"You're welcome," Guinan returned.

Picard set the cup on the bar. "I know all the replicators on the ship are programmed exactly the same, but for some reason, I can never get a cup of tea that's quite as good as what you serve."

Guinan smiled serenely. "I like to think it's the company that makes it so good."

Picard picked his cup up, took another sip, and nodded slightly. "Yes, I believe you're right about that."

"Of course, I am."

In the silence that followed, Picard took another drink of tea, then placed the cup before him again. "I'm sure you heard about...what happened. The Cardassians." His eyes looked up at her, searching her face for any reaction.

"I heard. I'm glad you're feeling better."

"I am."

Again, there was silence. But a silence shared with Guinan was full and complete. Their friendship did not always need words.

A few moments later, she stepped away, and then returned with not one, but two cups of tea. She handed Picard a fresh cup, then raised her own in an abbreviated toast. "To...company," she said, taking a drink.

"Company," Picard whispered hoarsely, taking a sip as well.

~vVv~


	10. Chapter 10

Troi made him recount it all again. _For the eighth time, _he realized as he contemplated the existence of that fifth light. He knew, mentally, that having him discuss his ordeal in complete detail over and over would help him come to terms with it, help him accept it. But emotionally, it still took a lot out of him every time he related the events.

Troi knew. That's why she always positioned herself beside him on the sofa, the thigh of her left leg touching his right one, her hand resting on his arm. Letting him know, without saying a word, that she was there, and he was not alone.

He sighed deeply, rubbing his hand up over the back of his neck. He looked up at the counselor. "It really doesn't get any easier to talk about," he admitted, knowing that she sensed his discomfort.

"No, but you are dealing with it much better."

Picard leaned back against the sofa cushions, stretched his legs out in front of him and winced when his knee came in contact with the coffee table. "It's a very exhausting story," he conceded. He glanced back at Troi. "How many more times do you really want to hear it?"

Troi smiled slyly. "Well, to be honest with you, not for at least another week."

Picard blinked. "Really?" Suddenly, he wasn't so sure he wanted to be released so easily and abruptly from her care.

"Yes, really," she confirmed. "But that doesn't mean I'm through with our sessions." He exhaled the breath of air he was unconsciously holding. "No," she continued, "I'd like for us to spend some time talking about...other things."

His feeling of relief shifted to apprehension. "What...other things?"

"The first few days you were back were very traumatic for you," she said softly. "We haven't talked about that time."

Picard was aware that her hand was still on his arm, the pressure of her fingers increasing slightly. He stiffened. He hadn't been expecting this. "I... I don't really remember much," he stammered.

"What do you remember?"

He shook his head. "I..." he began, and then sighed heavily. "I remember talking to you in my ready room, and then..." His voice trailed off.

"And then?"

He sat up straight, pulled his arm away from her touch and shifted his leg away from hers. "Counselor," he said curtly, "I really don't see what this has to do with my recovery. I...had a few...difficult days. Some episodes that I really can't remember and would just as soon forget. So, if you don't mind-"

"I do mind, Jean-Luc."

Troi caught him by surprise using his first name. He turned and stared at her, feeling himself beginning to tremble.

"If you really can't remember those episodes, then there would be nothing to forget." She hesitated a moment, but her eyes never lost contact with his. "I think you do remember more than you want to admit."

Picard swallowed. His throat felt tight, rough; his eyes burned. He lowered his gaze.

"I think we need to talk about it. I think you need to know that what you felt, what you went through during those days was acceptable. It doesn't make you any less of a man, or of a captain." Troi touched his shoulder.

He didn't pull away. He swallowed again, felt warm, wet tears gather in his eyes. He'd always suspected that his counselor knew him better than he knew himself. He'd been too afraid to even think about those times with Troi and Crusher and Riker. _Those times. Were they really only a few days ago? _A tear rolled off his cheek and landed on his chest. He rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. "I...I really don't remember everything that happened."

Troi's grasp on his shoulder tightened. "I know. Tell me what you do remember."

"I...um," he cleared his throat, took a deep breath. His jaw was shaking; it was difficult to speak. He tried anyway. "I... I couldn't move."

"When you were sitting in front of the viewport, when Will found you," Troi helped him with the memories.

He nodded. "I didn't know he was there." He closed his eyes, consciously remembering that moment for the first time. "But...I knew Beverly when she held me. I felt... I felt safe."

Troi's hand moved from his shoulder, took hold of his hand and squeezed it gently. "Go on," she whispered.

"I knew when I was back in my cabin. She was there. I couldn't..." He stopped.

"You couldn't what, Jean-Luc?"

"I... I couldn't let her leave me. Not like..." A muffled moan escaped his throat, and he turned away from Troi, his back to her. Pulling his hand from hers, he propped his elbows on his knees, and lowered his head into his open palms. He couldn't stop the tears, his shoulders shaking with each sob.

Troi's hands ran over his back, soothingly. She allowed him to weep for several long moments, and then said, "You couldn't let her leave you like she left you on Seltris III."

The words slapped him into awareness. "No!" he denied them, although he knew what she was saying was what he'd felt. Still felt. "Bev...Beverly didn't... leave me," he mumbled around heaving gasps of breath. His whole body shook uncontrollably. "I thought... they'd taken her, too."

"I know." Troi continued to massage his back. "But, for whatever reason, she wasn't there, with you. And when you returned to the _Enterprise, _you needed her."

Picard's head moved, nodding in agreement with the counselor's words. 'Yes," he rasped. "I needed her."

Troi leaned closer and wrapped her arms around the captain's trembling shoulders, rested her cheek against the back of his neck. "It's all right, Jean-Luc. It's all right to need her. It's all right."

And she held him while he cried. And he cried for a long time.

~vVv~

He was restless that evening. He'd spent the late afternoon worried that his emotional session with Troi would preclude any plans for his return to limited duty the next day. The counselor had assured him that it would not. But still, he was concerned.

He admitted to himself that perhaps it wasn't so much his return to duty that bothered him, as it was the emotional content of the afternoon's counseling session. This need for Beverly Crusher disturbed him. Yet at the same time, it made him feel safe, secure. Like a child with a loving, protective parent.

He shuddered, tried to turn away from the thoughts that flooded through his mind. Troi hadn't pressed him any further that afternoon, hadn't asked him any more questions about the regressive post-traumatic episodes he'd experienced. He knew she would. And he knew he would have to respond. He did remember more than he wanted to.

The door chime sounded. _Beverly._

"Come," he said, turning away from the viewport.

The door slid open. Crusher came in. "I know I wasn't invited to dinner, but I thought-"

Picard crossed over to her. "Forgive me for not inviting you. It was an unfortunate oversight." He smiled hesitantly.

Crusher reached out and touched his arm. Troi had spoken to her. He could tell, could feel it in the pressure of her touch.

He glanced away, staring at a spot on the wall just past her right shoulder. "I won't be returning to duty tomorrow, will I?" he asked, his voice dull.

"You don't want to?" Crusher returned pleasantly.

He looked back at her. "Yes, of course, I want to. But I thought..."

"Yes, Jean-Luc, Deanna and I did talk about your session with her today." She placed the palm of her other hand against his cheek. "We both find you guilty of needing someone," she smiled softly, "and that crime doesn't carry any punishment with it."

He lowered his eyes and stared down at the floor. She stroked her fingers along his jawline, and up over his right ear. "I am so sorry I left you," she murmured.

Picard shook his head. "No, you didn't leave me. You and Worf had no choice. I'm just so grateful that they..." He inhaled a deep breath and raised his eyes back to hers. "I am so grateful that they didn't take you."

Crusher smiled and drew him into her arms, held him for several moments. He relaxed in her embrace, allowed himself to need the comfort she gave him.

"I am grateful they gave you back," she whispered in his ear.

"Even after all the trouble I've given you these past few days," he murmured.

Crusher nodded. "Even after all the trouble." She released him and took a small step back, her hands taking hold of his. "We love you, Jean-Luc. All of us."

Picard blushed slightly, unsure of what to say. But before the silence stretched too far, Crusher dropped his hands, and took a step toward the dining area.

"So, where is this dinner you've just invited me to?"

"Ah, well." He turned and followed her over to the table, staring down at the empty surface. "Dinner..hasn't been... prepared," he answered meekly.

"Well, then," Crusher placed a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him into the nearest chair, "I suggest you have a seat, and I'll have the replicator prepare something."

Picard leaned back with a grin on his face and watched her as she went to the wall unit.

She turned and looked back over her shoulder. "Any requests?"

"Anything," he responded, "as long as it's not tuna fish sandwiches."

~vVv~

"I'm fine, Number One," Picard said quietly to the man seated to the right of him.

Riker abruptly sat up straight, realizing that he'd been leaning closer and closer to the center chair. "Yes, sir. Of course you are, sir." He exchanged a glance with his commanding officer and then smiled in spite of himself. "I'm sorry, sir. It's just...It's good to have you back."

Picard nodded. "It's good to be back." He allowed his gaze to circle around the bridge. Everyone, including himself, was in their proper place. Worf at Tactical, Data at Ops, Ro at Navigation, Troi in the chair to his left. He took note of the guarded concern in her eyes. "I am fine, Counselor," he assured her.

"Yes, I know. But you have been here several hours..." she began.

Knowing where this was heading, Picard interrupted her. "Yes, I have. And I believe I shall take a break in my ready room." He stood up before Troi had a chance to protest his choice of location. "Number One, you have the bridge," he intoned, striding toward the ready room door.

"Aye, sir," Riker replied, glancing over at Troi as he moved into the center seat.

She shook her head and smiled. "I'll give him a few minutes, and then check to see if he's really resting."

"It is good to have him back," the first officer said again.

"Yes, it is," Troi agreed.

~vVv~

"I'm taking a nap like a good little boy."

The doors had barely closed behind Troi when those words welcomed her into the captain's ready room. She looked over at the sofa. Picard was lying down with his head on a pillow, one arm draped over his eyes.

"Beverly would be pleased."

He raised his arm and looked at her. "And aren't you pleased?"

"I still think your cabin would be more comfortable."

Picard laid his arm back across his face. "Ah, yes, but that wasn't necessarily a stipulation of my limited release."

Troi sighed. "No, I suppose it wasn't. Although, I had thought it understood."

"I'll be fine, Counselor," he assured her.

"Very well. Can I get you anything before I leave?"

"No, thank you. Just please tell Doctor Crusher that I am taking my nap."

Troi shook her head. "I will tell her that you are being a very good little boy."

"Umm," Picard grunted as she walked out the door.

~vVv~

He had been sleeping so very lightly that the faint sound of his communicator jolted him awake.

"Captain to the bridge," Ricer's voice intoned.

Picard rolled off the sofa and was on the bridge in a matter of seconds.

"Report, Number One," he requested before he even took a look at the viewscreen. He came to a halt in front of his command chair and turned just as Riker opened his mouth to speak.

"Sir, we've encountered-"

"Cardassians," Picard choked, his voice suddenly rattling uncontrollably.

The large Cardassian ship loomed off their port bow. Riker took a step closer to the captain.

"It came out of warp from literally nowhere," the first officer began to explain. "I've raised the shields."

"Sir," Worf's voice came from the tactical station, "they are hailing us."

"On screen," Picard barely breathed the words, but the Klingon heard and opened a channel to the Cardassian ship.

In an instant, the bridge of the _Enterprise _was blinded by...

_Four lights..._

~vVv~

He saw them, he knew he had, and behind them had been Madred: the jagged planes of the Cardassian's face, the eyes that stared through him, shadowed by the presence of the lights. _Four lights... __five __lights..._

"Four lights." Picard wasn't sure if he'd thought the words or spoken them out loud. He felt a hand rub along his arm, and he jerked away from it.

"It's all right, Jean-Luc." It was Beverly Crusher's voice.

Picard opened his eyes, realizing that they had been closed. His ready room surrounded him. The doctor sat to one side of him on the sofa, Deanna Troi on the other. Riker leaned against the desk in front of him, arms crossed solidly over his chest, the fingers of one hand stroking down over his beard.

The captain met his first officer's gaze straight on. "The Cardassians?"

"They're gone," Riker returned.

Picard nodded. He knew that. He remembered. Now. The ship had been there, but it had merely been delivering a final message from Madred, a taped communique consisting of one question: How many lights are there?

The open link had been severed abruptly, and the ship had accelerated into warp and was gone before anyone on the bridge moved. Picard remembered Riker's hand wrapping around his arm, and then the younger man leading him into his ready room, settling him on the sofa, calling for the doctor and the counselor. Picard had buried his face in his hands and he hadn't moved, hadn't acknowledged anyone's presence until now.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Take care of the bridge, Number One," he said quietly.

"Data's there, sir," Riker reassured him.

"Please, Will," he insisted, shifting his gaze toward the floor, his voice breaking. He drew in another breath, seeming to gasp for air.

Troi nodded at Riker, and the first officer straightened. "Yes, sir," he replied. He crossed to the door, hesitated before leaving. "If you need anything, Captain... just let me know." Then he left, the door whispering closed behind him.

Picard sat for several long moments, continuing to stare at the floor. He could feel the pressure of Crusher's hand on his arm, and Troi was sitting so close to him that he could feel her breathing. He felt trapped between the two women, and he got to his feet, strode blindly to the viewport and leaned one shoulder against it.

He could hear them move on the sofa, shifting uncomfortably; he imagined the looks of concern that passed between them.

"Captain?" Troi was the first to speak.

"I froze," he murmured.

"The Cardassian ship took you by complete surprise," the counselor began to reason.

"I couldn't move." And yet he was moving now, trembling, pressing his body closer to the window for support. "Couldn't talk."

"Jean-Luc," Crusher's voice, soft, gentle, "after what Madred did to you, it's understandable that-"

"Damn it!" He slammed his fist against the viewport. "Will had to lead me off the bridge like...like an invalid, or a..." He gasped in another breath, and then another, fighting the sobs that threatened to overwhelm him. "Or a frightened child." He leaned his head forward; it bumped hard against the glass.

Seconds later, he felt Crusher's hand on his neck, cool fingers rubbing tenderly over the knotted muscles. "Shh, relax. You just need some more time, Jean-Luc."

"According to your medical report, I don't have any more time," he mumbled, his voice thick with unshed tears.

"You could take shore leave," Crusher suggested.

He turned on her, eyes glaring brightly. "You mean medical leave, don't you?"

"It's not a bad idea, Captain." Troi stood near them, next to the desk. "You could take a couple of weeks, go somewhere, give yourself the time you need to recover completely." She reached out and placed her own hand on his. "You have been through a lot. Physically, the torture, the drugs, the nerve damage. And mentally. The pain. The fear. It's going to take you a while longer to heal."

He blinked at the counselor, allowing her words to sink in. Yes, he had been through a lot. He'd been to hell and back, and he was tired, so very tired. He leaned toward Crusher, and she took him in her arms, cradling his head on her shoulder.

"I'll go with you, Jean-Luc," she whispered. "You're going to be all right."

Tears slid down his cheeks and onto the doctor's uniform. But she didn't seem to mind. She just held him tighter, and rocked him gently...back and forth, back and forth.

~vVv~


	11. Chapter 11

Picard sat on the edge of his bed watching while Beverly Crusher packed his suitcase. He made no move to help her, gave no suggestions as to what she should pack. He let her make the decisions now. All of them. She'd chosen their location for shore leave; she'd chosen what they'd had for breakfast. She'd even chosen the pajamas he'd worn to bed last night, helped him put them on, tucked him in, and then held him when the nightmares returned.

He'd slept very little. And although he was exhausted, he had no desire to close his eyes.

"What books would you like to take with you?" Crusher asked, leaning over the shelf above his bed, surveying the titles on the spines of the antique volumes. 'You've got...Great Expectations. Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy...Dune, and of course," she lifted the largest one in her hand, "the Complete Works of William Shakespeare." She was sure it was just one of his many editions. She gazed down at him and saw that he wasn't even looking at her. "Jean-Luc?"

"It doesn't make any difference, I..." He drew in a long breath, sighed wearily. "I don't think I'll be reading much." His voice was a monotone, distant, disconnected.

Before the mission to Seltris III, he'd probably been reading all four of them simultaneously.

"Well," Crusher forced a smile, "you might change your mind." She picked up the Shakespeare and the LeCarre and took them over to the suitcase that lay open on the bed behind him. She placed them on top of his folded robe, her fingers brushing against the soft material. She looked up, remembering that Picard was still in his pajamas. "Jean-Luc, you've got to get dressed." She walked around the bed and stood in front of him.

He didn't acknowledge her.

"Come on." She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I think you'll be more comfortable traveling in something other than a pair of short pajamas. Besides, these are your favorites and I'd better pack them."

'You're right." He got up off the bed and took a step toward his dresser, then stopped, his eyes clouding with confusion. "Could you...find me something to wear, please?" The effort was too great for him. Even the decision of what shirt and trousers to put on was more than he wanted to think about.

Crusher didn't say anything, but she went ahead of him, opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of underwear, a pair of gray trousers and a blue shirt. She came back to him, took his arm and led him back to the bed. She put the clothes down, and then, without even asking if he needed any help, she began to undress him.

Picard didn't protest. After all, she'd put the pajamas on him, she might as well be the one to take them off. She drew the shirt over his head, and then held him steady as he stepped out of the shorts. He stood there, naked, not the least bit embarrassed; he was so far past embarrassment now, that it didn't even occur to him to feel self-conscious. She handed him the underwear and the trousers, and he managed to pull them on himself. Then, she picked up the blue shirt and guided his arms into the sleeves, fastening it across his chest.

She ran her hands over his shoulders. "There we go," she smiled, "you look very handsome. Now sit down while I go get your socks and boots."

He sat, but took the socks and boots out of her hands when she returned and knelt beside him moments later. "I can do it," he said quietly.

"All right," she agreed, getting to her feet again. She leaned over and retrieved his gray pajamas from the floor. "I'll repliclean these," she offered heading over to the cleaning unit in the dressing alcove.

It took only a few seconds for the pajamas to be cleaned; they reappeared neatly folded. Crusher took them over to the suitcase, placed them inside, and closed the luggage. She glanced at Picard, checking on his progress with the boots.

He was bent forward, elbows resting on his thighs, hands hanging limply between his knees. One sock was on, but the other lay next to his boots on the floor. She went and knelt in front of him. His eyes were closed, lines of tension creased into his face. Crusher picked up the sock and began to pull it onto his foot.

Picard's eyelids flew open. "I can do it," he said sharply, reaching down and trying to push her hands away.

Crusher held on to both the sock and his foot. "Jean-Luc, you're exhausted. Even simple tasks are frustrating for you right now. I know that. Please, let me help."

His eyes stared into hers, and he nodded slowly. Then, closing his eyes again, he leaned forward. Crusher leaned toward him, and their foreheads touched. They rested against each other for several long moments before Crusher finished with his boots.

There was the cabin, and the woods, and the lake. In the distance, there were mountains. And above it all, was the highest, deepest, clearest blue sky Jean-Luc Picard had ever seen. He turned and looked at the doctor standing beside him. "It's...it's beautiful here," he said, a tired smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

Crusher smiled back, and linked her arm through his. "I thought you'd like it." She began to lead him toward the cabin's front porch. "That's why I wanted the transporter to set us down outside, so you could get the full effect. The village is about a half a mile that way." She gestured toward the road that led into the trees. "Not a bad walk at all."

They climbed the four steps onto the porch, and turned to gaze at the view again.

"It looks very much like Earth," Picard commented, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. "I've read about the colonization of New Colorado, but I've never been here."

"I brought Wesley here on vacation the year before my assignment to the _Enterprise," _Crusher explained, leaning against the porch railing. "A friend of mine at Starfleet Medical told me about it. In fact, this is the same cabin we stayed in seven years ago."

"It reminds me of..." Picard's voice trailed off.

Crusher moved closer to him. 'You can say it, Jean-Luc. It reminds you of the cabin that you and Jack and Walker and I used to go to in Canada."

Picard glanced over at her. 'Yes, it does."

She squeezed his arm. "Those were good times, weren't they?"

'Yes, they were."

"We'll have plenty of opportunities in the next few weeks to remember those times. I'd like talking about them, if you want to."

Sudden memories of those long ago shore leaves flooded into Picard's mind. The cabin in Canada, Jack's grandparent's place. The four of them had been there many times. Sometimes there had been others. Walker Keel always had a string of various girlfriends. And Picard had brought a date on one or two occasions. But mostly there had been only the four of them. He studied the woman beside him. _And then there were two, _he thought with a dull, hollow feeling.

Crusher pulled gently on his arm. "Come on and see the inside," she suggested, leading him toward the front door.

He followed her and moments later stood in the middle of the cabin's main room. A natural stone fireplace dominated one wall, and several over-stuffed arm chairs and a large sofa surrounded it. In the far right hand corner, separated by a long counter, was the kitchen. Two doors, one on either side of the fireplace, led to what Picard supposed were the bedrooms.

Crusher walked over to the open door on the right and glanced inside. 'This one is mine," she said looking back over her shoulder. "I had the ship transport our luggage down before our arrival."

Picard nodded. "I suppose the other room is mine."

She walked back to him. "Good deduction," she teased, then noticed the look of uncertainty on his face. "But if you need anything, you just call." She placed a hand on his arm. "I'm not that far away."

He stared into her eyes for a moment, then went over to the sofa and sank wearily onto it. He sighed, not knowing what to say or do. She came and sat beside him. "It's almost time for lunch. I could make us something to eat. And then, after we've rested, we could go for a

walk."

She was trying. Picard knew that. She was trying, and he wasn't. He drew in a deep breath, determined not to make her try alone. "That would...be nice," he agreed quietly. He glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen. "Is there a replicator?"

'Yes, but we'll walk into town later and get some other supplies. I think it might be fun to actually do some cooking while we're here."

Picard smiled weakly. "Well, an adventure at least."

He had not meant to sleep. But after a lunch of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, he'd taken a long nap. Led like a sleepy three-year-old to his bed by Beverly Crusher, he'd curled up under the blankets and fallen asleep while she'd sat beside him, holding his hand.

And she was still there when he opened his eyes.

"Hello," she whispered, smoothing her hand over his forehead.

He blinked and yawned, running his own hand over his eyes.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked.

He nodded. "No dreams."

"That's good."

Picard looked around, noticed the shadows in the room. "How long have I been asleep?"

"About three hours."

He pushed himself up in the bed. 'Three hours?" 'You were tired, Jean-Luc. You needed the rest." "But we were going to go for a walk," he protested.

"We still have time. It's not yet four o'clock." She stood up. "Why don't you get your boots on, and I'll fix us a pot of tea, and after that, we'll go."

"All right," he agreed.

She went to the door.

"Beverly?"

She looked back. 'Yes?" "Nothing."

His head hurt. But he didn't tell her. It was nothing, just the stress of the day and the walk into town. The pain would go away after a good night's sleep. There was no reason to worry Crusher any more than she was already worried.

Picard leaned back into the plush sofa. He was already in his pajamas. He'd put them on himself. Well, Crusher had buttoned the shirt for him, but that was all. He stared over his shoulder toward the kitchen. She was in her pajamas, too. He smiled, despite his headache. Unfortunately, she hadn't needed his help at all.

She came back to the sofa with a tray in her hands, set it on the coffee table. She settled down next to him and handed him a cup, then picked up her own. "Here's to Aunt Adele," she smiled, taking a long sip of the warm milk.

Picard took a sip as well, the taste bringing back hazy memories of evenings at his aunt's house when he was a child. He sighed and leaned over and set the cup back on the tray, suddenly too weary to even hold it.

"Does it taste all right?" Crusher asked, gazing at him with that constant look of concern she'd had for the past week.

"It's fine, Beverly, I'm. I'm just tired," he answered, sighing exhaustively, allowing his chin to bend toward his chest. He ran his hands up over his face and across his head.

Crusher reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Well, all you have to do here is rest. You don't have to worry about a thing."

'That's good. Because I don't even have the ability to worry," he said, his voice suddenly bitter. "I can't even do that. I can't dress myself, I can't make any decisions, I can't..." His words trailed off, the pain behind his eyes intensifying. He clenched his fingers together and rubbed a fist against his head.

"Jean-Luc?" Crusher moved closer to him, her fingers touching his chin, raising his head. Their eyes met. 'You're in pain," she realized, getting up from the sofa and retrieving her medical kit from the kitchen.

Picard sat quietly, waiting for her return. She was back in a moment, her medical tricorder humming over his body.

She studied the readings. "Why didn't you tell me your head was hurting?" "Beverly, it's just a headache," he answered meekly.

"After all you've been through, a headache is not just...a headache." She pulled a hypospray from her kit, set it, and pressed it against his neck. 'There, that should help." She sighed and stared at him for several long moments.

Picard felt the pain begin to recede. He nodded. "That's better."

She put the hypospray and tricorder back into her kit, and then gently took hold of his hand, holding it between both of hers. "Jean-Luc, you have to let me know how you're feeling. Especially now." She took a deep breath, realizing that it was time she expressed her own fears and doubts about his medical condition, fears and doubts that had come flooding back after his reaction to the Cardassian ship the day before. "Remember, I told you about the nerve damage you experienced."

"It's permanent, isn't it?" Picard asked sullenly.

Crusher drew in another deep breath. She wouldn't lie to him. "It might be. I don't really know."

Picard pulled his hand away from her and stood up. "I think I'll go to bed now." "Jean-Luc..."

"I'll be fine, Beverly," he reassured her quietly, then disappeared into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Crusher sat on the sofa for several long minutes, staring at the closed bedroom door. _Damn. _This wasn't what she'd intended. She'd wanted to discuss his medical condition calmly, truthfully. Instead, she'd let him get away. She'd allowed him to leave, hadn't even tried to stop him. Maybe she hadn't really wanted to discuss it after all. Maybe they both wanted to pretend that the problem didn't exist. Ignore it and it would go away. But it wouldn't, at least not so easily.

She stood and walked over to the door, knocked softly. "Jean-Luc? May I come in?" There was no answer.

She opened the door slightly and looked inside. Picard sat on the far edge of his bed, his back to her, his shoulders hunched forward, elbows propped on knees, head cradled in his hands. Quietly, she went and sat down beside him. He didn't look up.

"Jean-Luc, you can't run away from this," she said gently.

Picard sighed tiredly. "Even if I could, where would I go?" he replied, his voice hoarse with unshed tears. "And yet, my mind keeps trying to run away."

Crusher placed a hand on his back, felt the tension laced along the muscles in his shoulders. "Subconsciously your mind needs those episodes of regression. And the damage that was done to the neural receptors in your brain makes it all the more difficult for you to consciously resist those regressive episodes."

Picard looked up at her finally, his eyes bright with tears. 'You just used the words 'damage' and 'brain' in the same sentence, Beverly. I don't think I like the sound of that."

Crusher drew in a deep breath. "I don't know if it's permanent or not, Jean-Luc. But yes, there has been some brain damage."

'You knew this and still let me take command of the ship." There was a harsh tone to his voice.

Crusher's back stiffened. "In many instances, other areas of the brain take over for the damaged part while it learns to compensate. I wasn't sure exactly what would happen in your case, because the drugs the Cardassians used had contributed to the problem. But I was hoping that the damage would reverse itself within a few days. And besides, I..."

"What?" Picard asked gruffly.

"I wanted Edward Jellico off the ship, out of your ready room, off your bridge," Crusher returned fiercely. "I knew that Will would be there to take command if you needed him to. He should have been in command throughout our entire mission."

Picard shook his head and lowered it back to his hands. "Well, he may remain in command permanently."

"Jean-Luc, I still believe that you will recover," Crusher spoke slowly, her words strong and forceful. "I can't tell you what will happen next. I don't know what effect the damage will have on you physically or mentally, but I do know that I will be here for you, and we will get through this."

Picard didn't say anything, but he leaned toward her, allowing her to take him in her arms and hold him for a long time.


	12. Chapter 12

She felt as if she'd only been asleep for a few minutes when the terrified scream ripped through the darkness of the cabin. Crusher flew out of bed and into the next bedroom, stopping at the doorway to turn on the lights. The bed was empty, the sheets and blankets pulled off onto the floor where Picard was huddled into a tight ball, his arms and legs drawn up underneath him. He was screaming, crying, gasping for each breath, his body rocking back and forth.

Crusher raced into the kitchen and returned with her medical kit. Taking out her tricorder, she slowly went over and knelt down on the floor beside him.

"Jean-Luc," she whispered, touching his back, knowing he couldn't hear her over the sound of his sobbing, but hoping he would somehow sense her presence. "I'm here, Jean-Luc. You're all right."

She watched as his hands reached up and pushed against the sides of his head. She ran the tricorder over his body; the pain readings were very high. Quickly, she prepared a hypospray and pressed it against his neck. Within seconds, he stopped his rocking movement, lifted his head and stared up at her. His eyes were red, his face wet with tears, lines of pain creased across his forehead. He drew in a shuddering breath, but didn't stop crying.

"Jean-Luc?" Crusher touched his cheek. She could tell he didn't know her, at least not on a conscious level. She sat on the floor and leaned her back against the bed, her hand still on his face.

Picard slowly moved out of his huddled position and inched toward her, staring at her blindly through his tears. Crusher opened her arms to him, and he awkwardly climbed onto her lap, folding his arms and legs around her, pressing his body close to hers. He let his head rest warm and heavy on her shoulder. He was shivering uncontrollably. His pants were wet and the rest of his pajamas were damp with perspiration. The ragged sobbing continued until Crusher felt his left arm move up toward his face, and then she knew that his thumb had found his mouth because he stopped crying, and she could feel the rhythmic movement of his cheek and lips against her shoulder. He was whimpering softly now, and hesitantly she wrapped her arms around him, allowing one of her hands to slip up underneath his pajama shirt and gently rub his back. He sighed and relaxed further into her embrace.

Crusher knew they couldn't sit there for the rest of the night. He needed to be changed into a pair of dry pajamas and then tucked into bed. And she needed to call the ship and talk to Troi. She would need some help with him. But for a while longer, she just sat there holding him, trying not to think too far into the future. They would have to take it a day at a time. _No, _she thought, a _moment at a time._

He slept, curled into a fetal position on the floor, while Crusher changed the sheets on the bed. Then, she took a fresh pair of pajamas from his suitcase and set about changing him. He slept through the entire process, and she was relieved, especially as she was pulling on the underwear with the absorbent lining that she'd gotten from the cabin's replicator. If he woke up in a coherent state of mind to discover that he was wearing something so very close to a pair of diapers, he would be livid. But as it was, Crusher could think of no better solution. Besides, she'd done the very same thing with him during those few days on the _Enterprise, _and as far as she knew, he hadn't been aware of the difference.

When it was time to get him into bed, she shook him gently until he was half awake. "Jean-Luc, hold on to me," she whispered, placing his arms around her neck. He clung to her, and she managed to lift him onto the bed.

Immediately, he burrowed under the covers, his thumb slipping into his mouth again. He was completely asleep within seconds.

Crusher sat on the edge of the bed watching him for a little while, and then leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead. She got up and went into her own bedroom. It was almost morning. Already the eastern sky was turning pink with the approach of sunrise. She went into the bathroom, shed her pajamas and took a hot shower.

Afterwards, she dressed for the day, and went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. Taking a cup with her, she went over to the computer terminal in the opposite corner of the main room and sat down. She'd decided that she definitely would need someone else to help her with Picard, and Troi would be the best person.

The _Enterprise _was still in orbit around New Colorado for it was delivering supplies to the smaller, more isolated colonies. Crusher activated the computer. Within seconds, the blue Starfleet emblem appeared, and then the face of Lieutenant Worf.

"Doctor Crusher, is everything all right?" the Klingon asked.

"Just fine, Worf," she answered, not wanting to lie to him, but realizing that the captain's situation called for confidentiality. "Could I speak with Counselor Troi?"

'Yes, of course."

The blue screen re-appeared for a moment, and then became the face of Deanna Troi.

"Beverly?" the counselor's voice was hesitant; already she sensed the seriousness of the doctor's call.

Crusher drew in a deep breath and explained the situation.

"I'm going down with you." The words were firm and invited no discussion to the contrary.

But Troi was used to discussing things with the man who stood in front of her. "Will, I don't think it would be advisable."

'Then bring him back to the ship," he demanded.

Troi sighed. "Beverly and I discussed that. But in many ways we feel it would be better for him to remain where he is. At least for now. Being on the ship would confuse him. Subconsciously he would probably know that here he has responsibilities that he's unable to fulfill at this time. By allowing him to remain on the planet, in the cabin, he can deal with who he is at the moment, without having to worry about who he was, or who he's supposed to be."

"But is it safe for him to be so far away from Sickbay?"

"Beverly has already requested for some equipment to be sent down. But medically, he's not in any real danger."

"And mentally?"

Troi lowered her eyes to the carpeted deck.

Riker released a heavy sigh and turned toward the ready room desk, leaning his fists against the surface of it. "Damn," he muttered, shaking his head. A moment later, he felt Troi's hand between his shoulder blades.

"Will, I'll keep you informed."

Riker nodded, but didn't look up. "We'll be in orbit for another three days, and then we've been instructed to observe the Avon Nebula for another week and a half. It's only two hours from here at warp nine. We'll still be in communications range."

"That's good," Troi said softly. "I'd...I'd better be going now." She turned and took several steps toward the door.

"Deanna?" Riker's voice stopped her, and she looked back at him. He straightened and turned away from the desk. "Take care of him." She smiled reassuringly. "We will."

"Beverly?" Deanna Troi called out as soon as she was released from the transporter beam, her eyes scanning the cabin's empty main room.

"We're in here," Crusher's voice answered.

Troi went over to the open bedroom door and looked inside. Crusher was sitting on the edge of Picard's bed, holding a bowl in her hands.

The doctor glanced over her shoulder. "Come on in. I'm just trying to get him to eat something."

Troi crossed over to the bed and sat down opposite Crusher. Picard was sitting up, propped against several pillows. He turned his head away when Troi approached and quickly stuffed his left thumb between his lips.

"Oh, no you don't, Jean-Luc," Crusher chided, pulling the thumb out of his mouth. "Not while I'm trying to feed you." She held his hand down against his chest, and Picard's face creased. "And no tears," she added. "Deanna, would you mind holding onto his hands while I try to get him to eat a little more of this soup."

"I don't mind at all," she said softly, smiling at Picard, and covering his hands with hers. He stiffened slightly, but didn't pull away.

Crusher held out a spoonful of soup to Picard. "As you can see, I'm not having much success with this meal." She eyed the make-shift bib that covered his chest. It was stained in several places where the tomato soup had failed to make it past his lips. She touched the spoon to his lower lip. "Come on, Jean-Luc, open up. Just a little more and I'll let you have your thumb back."

Picard pressed his lips together and shook his head, his eyes shifting from Crusher to Troi and then back to Crusher.

"Jean-Luc, you have to eat something," the doctor persisted. Again, another shake of his head.

"Will he drink anything?" Troi asked, looking over at the tray on the bedside table and seeing a cup.

"He took one sip of milk earlier," Crusher answered with a sigh, "but most of it ran down his chin." She replaced the soup bowl on the tray and picked up the cup. "Here, you may have more luck," she said, handing the cup to Troi.

"Here you go, Jean-Luc," Troi encouraged, holding the cup to Picard's lips.

He eyed her warily, but then seemed to relax a bit. The red-haired woman was nice to him, so maybe this one would be, too. And besides, he was thirsty. Lowering his head slightly, he tried to sip at the milk, but he could never get it far enough back in his mouth to get it to go down his throat. It ran out the corners of his mouth and down his chin.

Troi drew the cup away and wiped her fingers over Picard's chin. She stared at the cup for a few seconds, then she looked over at Crusher. "I have an idea. I'll be right back." She left the room and returned a minute later, the cup no longer in her hand. "I think this might work," she suggested.

Crusher stared at the bottle in the counselor's hand. "Deanna?" she questioned.

"Beverly, I know we haven't had a chance to talk about his condition, but the thoughts and emotions I'm sensing from him are very basic."

Crusher nodded in agreement. "His brainwaves don't show very much activity either right now. I think that, in some way, the neural damage may be trying to repair itself, but it's starting at the beginning, relearning normal, everyday functions."

The two women stared at each other for several long moments, and then Troi spoke. "Do we give him a chance to relearn? To grow up again, with no pressure, no expectations?"

Crusher took a deep breath and nodded affirmatively. Troi held the bottle out to Picard, the nipple touching his lower lip. Instinctively, he drew it into his mouth, then pushed Troi's hand away, taking hold of the bottle himself. He turned over on his side, curled around it, and began to suck contentedly.

Crusher and Troi sat at the kitchen table, a plate of sandwiches and a pot of black coffee between them. Picard had fallen asleep and thus had afforded them time to discuss his condition and how best they should approach his recovery.

"He's very much like a baby right now," Troi said staring over at Crusher.

The doctor nodded. "I thought the same thing earlier this morning when I ran a brain scan on him. There's very little higher level activity. The most confusing thing about all of this, though, is the fact that he's had some fairly lucid intervals since his return from the Cardassians. Even the episodes in his cabin seemed to be more trauma induced; the brainwave patterns were never this low. If this was going to happen, I don't understand why it didn't happen sooner."

Troi took a sip of her coffee, considering Crusher's words. "I've been thinking the same thing. But, you know, he's been through so much. So many things have affected his mind in the past few years."

Crusher sighed. "The Borg, the Kataan probe, and now this." She pushed her coffee cup back and forth between her hands. "But I never imagined this happening. Not even after those few days on the ship. Damn it, Deanna, this scares me. It seems so...permanent."

Troi shook her head. "But I don't think it is. These episodes could be similar to the ones on the ship, despite the change in brain activity. He could be lucid one moment, and regress the next."

Crusher thought for a few moments, and then agreed. 'You could be right. Neural receptors in the brain make thousands of connections every second, almost like Data's positronic

matrix. Now, if those receptors are trying to re-route themselves and relearn their separate functions, then his brain activity could fluctuate anywhere between two extremes."

'Yes, but regardless of the pattern, I really think that the next few weeks are going to be a growing process for him. And we need to decide how we want to handle the regressive intervals. Now, you've had plenty of experience raising Wes, and, well..." she smiled slightly, "I remember some things with Ian. And if we're lucky, Jean-Luc may grow as fast as he did."

"We need to decide what we want to focus on first," Crusher said. "He hasn't spoken. Although," she rolled her eyes, "he can cry. Quite loudly."

"We should probably deal with basic functions: feeding himself, dressing himself, speaking." Troi frowned. "It's not going to be easy, Beverly. Especially if he does continue to shift in and out of regression. One moment, he's going to be the man we've always known, and the

next..."

"Nothing worthwhile is ever easy, Deanna." She reached over and patted the top of her friend's hand. "And don't worry about me. Remember, I'm a doctor. I can handle it."

He slept, and Crusher watched him. For hours. Troi had gone to bed in the next room, but the doctor remained in the chair beside Picard's bed, determined to be there when he opened his eyes. _Always, _her mind whispered, /'/ _be here always._

His slumber was relatively quiet and peaceful. There seemed to be no nightmares. He slept with his thumb in his mouth, and the fingers of his other hand clutching the half-empty bottle of milk. Crusher had tried to take the bottle from him, but he'd whimpered in his sleep and tightened his grip. _If it makes him feel better, then he can have it, _she thought. She would have given him anything. _Anything._

She tried to keep her mind from thinking about tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. A moment at a time. That was all they could afford to focus on. Just one moment...and then the next. And the next.

Crusher yawned and rubbed at her eyes, leaning her head back against the cushioned chair. A few moments later, she'd fallen asleep.

Crusher opened her eyes, and at first, felt very disoriented. Then she remembered where she was and immediately looked over at the bed. Picard wasn't awake, but he was restless, tossing, turning. His thumb was no longer in his mouth, but his hand still gripped the bottle, even tighter now. Crusher moved and sat on the edge of the bed, realizing that he was experiencing a nightmare.

"Shh, Jean-Luc," she soothed, rubbing her hand tentatively over his cheek.

He twisted his head on the pillow, his eyes darting back and forth behind closed lids. He moaned softly, and his breathing grew rapid. And then he screamed, out loud, sitting up abruptly, his eyes opening wide with terror.

"Jean-Luc!" Crusher spoke his name harshly to draw his attention away from the nightmare images.

His whole body seemed to crumple as he turned and looked at her, his face falling, tears trailing down his cheeks. "Bev..." he groaned and leaned forward into her embrace.

"I'm right here, Jean-Luc." She wrapped one arm securely around him and cradled his head on her shoulder. Her other hand reached over and retrieved her tricorder from the bedside table. She scanned him quickly without releasing her hold on him and then studied the read out. Brainwave activity was almost normal.

"Beverly?" Troi's voice came from the doorway.

"Just a bad nightmare, Deanna," she said, silently offering the tricorder to her.

Troi came over to the bed and took the instrument, nodding at the readings.

Picard still huddled against Crusher's body, his shoulders shaking. But he could hear the voice of the counselor in the room, and he struggled to control his emotions, to contain the overwhelming fear he was sure she could sense. The terror of the nightmare had caused him to wet his pants, and he pulled away from Crusher in embarrassment, knowing that her tricorder would have verified his predicament. He sat up and tried to wipe his hand over his face. His fingers were still curled around the bottle.

Crusher saw the instant revulsion in his eyes. "I'll take that," she said quickly, trying to pull it from his grasp.

"What..." Picard searched her face and then stared over at Troi. "What is..." He pulled completely away from Crusher's embrace and hurled the bottle across the room. "Damn it!" he cried. And then his body stiffened, his eyes closed. "Get out," he said, voice cold.

"Jean-Luc..." Crusher touched his cheek.

"Get out," he repeated.

Crusher looked up at Troi. The counselor nodded toward the door.

"All right, Jean-Luc. Deanna and I will be in the next room." She stood up, but allowed her hand to touch his face once more. "But you're all right. You're all right."

Quietly, they left, pulling the door half-way closed behind them.

Troi crossed over and sat down on the sofa, looking to where Crusher still stood beside the bedroom door. "He needs some time, Beverly. He's going to have to come to terms with this in his own way. It won't be easy. But we can't do this for him."

Crusher sighed and went and sat down in a chair opposite Troi. "He's himself again. You saw those brain scan results. Almost normal."

"And at any minute, they could change," Troi reminded her. "And probably will. He's going to have to get used to these transitions even more than we are. Going from lucidity to regression won't be difficult for him, but coming out of it will."

Crusher stared at the half-closed door. "What is he doing in there?"

Troi leaned over and touched her friend's arm, drawing her gaze back to her. "He's Jean-Luc Picard, Beverly. He's learning how to deal with it."


	13. Chapter 13

The door opened twenty minutes later, and Picard came into the living room, his robe wrapped tightly around him, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets to keep them from trembling. Both Crusher and Troi stared at him with concerned gazes, but he noted the relief in their eyes. He was still with them. There were still four lights.

The counselor smiled and patted the sofa next to her. Wordlessly, Picard went and sat down beside her. He looked across the coffee table at Crusher. "What's wrong with me, Beverly?" he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion. He was afraid to hear her answer.

Crusher took a deep breath. "We're not sure. We think the neural receptors in your brain are trying to re-work themselves. To...compensate for any...permanent damage that's been done."

Picard tensed at her words, and Troi silently placed her hand on his arm. He relaxed a little bit.

"We can't be sure what the exact cause is, but whatever is happening is resulting in extreme fluctuations in your brain activity."

Picard's eyes grew even more distant. "I can't...I can't remember anything...I..." He sighed. "We went into town...I...I went to bed." He sighed again, rubbed his hand over his forehead.

"Don't worry about not remembering," Troi said calmly, her hand stroking his arm gently. "Just know that whatever happens, Beverly and I will be here for you."

"We'll take care of you, Jean-Luc," Crusher said, getting up and walking around the coffee table, sitting down on the edge of it, her knees pressing close to Picard's. She took his hands in hers. "We won't leave you."_ I_ _won't leave you. Ever again._

Picard lowered his head to his chest and slowly exhaled a deep breath. "How long?" he whispered.

Crusher squeezed his hands. "I don't know. As long it takes."

"Why can't I control it?"

"It's not entirely psychological, Jean-Luc," Crusher explained.

He looked up suddenly, his eyes connecting fiercely with hers. "Then why can't you fix it?" he demanded. "Why can't you..." His voice shook. "Why can't you make it stop?"

Crusher pulled one hand from his, gently touched his face, brushing away the wet tears that trailed down his cheeks. "I wish I could." She wished that she could take it all away, the pain and fear, his embarrassment and vulnerability.

Picard closed his eyes. "I'm tired," he murmured.

"Then just lie down and rest," Crusher said, easing him down on the sofa.

Troi stood and helped pull his feet up; then she took a quilt from the back of the sofa and draped it over his body.

Crusher leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I'm here. Just sleep."

~vVv~

He cried, and she held him, rocked him on her lap, sang softly into his ear. He held the red strands of her hair between his fingers. It was soft. He rubbed it against his cheek.

He felt hot and fevered, and his skin and pajamas were wet beneath his robe. He shifted uncomfortably in the woman's embrace.

The one with the dark eyes came and sat beside them. She pulled him away from the arms that held him, just enough to remove his robe and his damp pajamas. They both helped to change him into a fresh pair of pajamas, their hands soft and warm on his skin. He lay quietly. He trusted them. And when they were finished, he burrowed back into the safe arms of the woman with the red hair.

"Shh, Jean-Luc," she soothed.

That was his name. He knew that. He closed his eyes, and he slept.

~vVv~

"Did you get any sleep last night?" Troi asked, staring at the doctor over the edge of her coffee cup.

Crusher looked up from her own cup of lemon tea. "A little bit. After we managed to get him back into bed." She sighed, took a sip of the hot liquid. "His fever keeps coming back."

"Why is that?"

Crusher shrugged. "I'm not sure. Probably something to do with the Cardassian drugs. It's never very high. Just enough to make him uncomfortable."

Troi's eyes shifted away from Crusher's. "He's awake," she said quietly.

Crusher turned in her chair and glanced over her shoulder. Picard stood in the bedroom doorway. She knew what state of mind he was in for his thumb was in his mouth, and he looked very vulnerable in his short pajamas. She got up and went over to him. "Hey there, Jean-Luc," she said softly, putting an arm around his shoulders, "did you sleep well?"

He didn't answer, but pushed himself closer to her, his head resting on her shoulder. He felt hot and Crusher knew he was still running a fever. He definitely needed to be wearing more clothes if he were going to be out of bed.

"Why don't we go get your robe?" she suggested, guiding him back into the bedroom.

They returned in a few minutes, Picard's beige terry cloth robe wrapped warmly around his body. He was holding Crusher's hand tightly, and Troi sensed his fear. He was uncertain of the counselor, confused by her presence in his small world.

Crusher led him over to the table. "Well, I promised Jean-Luc some cookies," she said, easing him down into a chair. "I know it's not terribly nutritional, but maybe he'll eat some." She pulled her hand away from his and stepped over to the replicator.

He sat very still, watching her, never taking his eyes from her. Crusher returned with a plate of cookies and a cup of milk. She placed it on the table in front of Picard and sat down in the chair next to his.

Picard glanced at Troi and immediately back to Crusher, then lifted his arm and reached out, grabbing one of the cookies off the plate; he stuffed it into his mouth.

Troi smiled slightly. "I'd say that cookies are definitely a favorite."

"They are," Crusher agreed, brushing her fingers over Picard's cheek. "Chew it carefully, Jean-Luc."

Despite Crusher's words, Picard tried to swallow too quickly, and he began to cough. His body's reaction frightened him and his eyes grew wide with terror.

"Jean-Luc, it's all right." Crusher stood up and wrapped one arm around his shoulders, holding her other hand to his mouth. "Spit it out," she instructed.

He understood and opened his mouth, spitting the half-eaten cookie into her hand. He reached for the cup of milk and tried to take a drink. The cold liquid spilled down the front of his robe, and he threw the cup back onto the table.

Troi jumped up and went to get a cloth from the kitchen counter. She came back to wipe Picard's mouth and chest, but he'd already turned in his chair and wrapped his arms around Crusher's waist, burying his face against her stomach. He was crying softly, his shoulders shaking.

Crusher gently rubbed her hands over his back. "Shh, Jean-Luc, you're all right. It just frightened you. You're fine." She looked up at Troi and shook her head. "I knew I shouldn't have given him those damned cookies."

Troi sighed. "Next time, I'll insist on something more nutritional."

Long minutes passed, and Picard stopped crying, his arms relaxing around Crusher's waist. He pulled back and stared up at her. She could tell by the light in his eyes that awareness had returned.

She smiled and touched her fingers to his cheeks, brushing away his tears. "It's all right. You're fine."

"Beverly?" He looked around. "Deanna?"

"We're here, Jean-Luc," Crusher assured him. "Are you hungry?"

He looked back at the table, the spilled milk and plate of cookies. He sighed. "Apparently not."

"Why don't we try something else," Troi suggested, standing up and cleaning off the table.

Picard pulled completely away from Crusher and turned in his chair, drawing in a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. He ran his hands over his face and struggled to regain control over the situation. He vaguely remembered their previous conversation, although he wasn't sure when they'd had it. Last night? Yesterday?

Troi stepped back to the table with a plate of food and set it in front of him. She touched his shoulder. "A moment at a time, Jean-Luc," she reminded him, almost as if she'd read his thoughts.

He sighed and nodded in agreement. Both Troi and Crusher sat down on either side of him, placing their own plates in front of them.

He stared at the three identical bowls of soup and cheese sandwiches. "I assume it's lunch time," he ventured.

"Close enough," Crusher answered, "almost 1100 hours."

"We forgot drinks," Troi said, standing up and heading toward the replicator.

"Counselor...Deanna," Picard's voice stopped her. "Could I have a...cup of Earl Grey, please?"

Troi smiled affectionately at him, relieved to have the captain back, if only for a while. "Of, course."

~vVv~

Lunch was very relaxing, and almost...normal, Crusher decided, despite Picard's precarious medical condition. Both she and Troi were careful not to let their conversation revolve to much around Picard's problems. If he asked a direct question, they answered it. But even Picard seemed not to want to talk about it. They'd said enough already, and so they spent the better part of an hour planning what to do that afternoon.

"We could go for a walk around the lake," Troi suggested.

"It's a very big lake," Crusher reminded her.

"So, we could go part of the way around, and then head back," she amended.

"If Will were here, you know what he'd be doing," Picard said, taking a sip of his third cup of tea.

Normally, Crusher wouldn't have allowed him more than two cups, but he'd given her that look when he'd asked for a third, that look that melted her heart and her resolve.

"We could go fishing," Troi replied, knowing that if Will Riker were indeed here, that is what he'd be doing.

"But he's not," Crusher was quick to add. Fishing was not a favorite pastime of hers.

"No, he's not," Picard echoed softly, his eyes staring blankly across the table. _He's on the Enterprise. We're here._

Troi caught the emotion behind Picard's words, and she reached over and patted his arm. "Why don't we just stick to our walk and leave the fish in the lake?"

Picard smiled slightly, drawing his thoughts back to the conversation. "That sounds fine, but... I think I'd like to take a bath before we do anything." He set his empty tea cup on the table and stood.

Crusher looked up at him. "Would you like any help?"

He repressed an exhausted sigh, knowing she meant well. "No, Beverly, I can manage." He took a step toward the bedroom.

"Jean-Luc..."

"I'll call if I need you," he replied, disappearing behind the bedroom door.

Crusher exchanged a worried gaze with Troi.

"We have to allow him his own sense of control, Beverly. Especially when he's capable of taking care of himself."

Crusher got up and began to clear away the lunch dishes. "I know, Deanna. It's just difficult. What if..." The thought remained unspoken.

But Troi understood. "We can always check on him in a little while."

~vVv~

Picard closed the bedroom door behind him, and at the same time tried to shut out the worried expressions that he'd seen on the women's faces throughout their meal. They meant well, he knew that. But he'd never felt comfortable being taken care of, and now he felt as if he were suffocating. Their every glance, every lifted eyebrow, spoke volumes.

He tried not to think about his condition, about tomorrow or the next day. "Just take a bath," he muttered out loud to himself and went into the bathroom.

He adjusted the controls and allowed the tub to fill with hot water while he undressed. Removing his robe, he saw that he had on a different pair of pajamas than the ones he'd remembered wearing. He peeled them off, trying not to imagine what happened to the other ones. He tugged his underwear down, his fingers registering the thickness of the cloth. He sighed with disgust when he realized the reason for the difference.

_How can they stand to take care of _me, he thought, as he lowered himself into the warm water. A part of him was so very thankful that he couldn't consciously recall the regressive episodes. And yet, he could remember some things. Fleeting thoughts and images.

"No," he said forcefully, pushing the memories from his mind. "No."

He leaned his head back against the edge of the tub and willed his body to relax. He was fine for right now. Maybe he would stay fine. Maybe... Maybe... _Four lights... Four lights..._

~vVv~

Crusher glanced up from the book she was reading and stared at Picard's bedroom door for what seemed like the millionth time in the past five minutes. "Deanna?" she asked absently.

Troi looked up from the magazine she was flipping through. "I think he's all right, but...why don't you go ahead and check on him?"

Crusher shook her head. "It's only been five minutes. I'm sure he's fine." She looked back at the door. Then got to her feet. "But since you insist."

She went over and knocked on the bedroom door. There was no answer. She opened it and stuck her head inside. "Jean-Luc?"

The room was empty. She crossed over to the bathroom, looking inside. Picard was in the bath, his head leaning on the edge of the tub, his eyes closed. "Jean-Luc?"

Her voice frightened him and he flinched, his eyes opening immediately. "Beverly!" He slipped further into the tub, his hands grasping the edges to keep his head from going under.

"Are you all right?" she asked, suppressing a grin.

"I think I was fine until you came barging in here," he shot back, his tone aggravated.

"I was just checking on you." She saw his pajamas on the floor where he'd let them drop, and she leaned over and began to pick them up.

"I'm fine," he answered succinctly.

"All right. I'll lay some clothes out on your bed for you."

"No..." His voice was harsh, but then it softened. "I can get my own clothes."

Crusher backed out of the bathroom. "Of course, you can."

~vVv~

Fifteen minutes later, Picard came out of his bedroom neatly dressed in a pair of brown trousers and a dark green shirt. He stopped next to the sofa and stared down at the floor, unable to meet Crusher's gaze.

'You look very nice," the doctor complimented.

Picard shrugged. "Thank you. I...I didn't mean to yell at you."

Crusher shook her head. "You didn't."

He looked up at her. 'Yes. I did. And I'm sorry." He sighed, paced over, and sat down in the chair next to Crusher's. "It's difficult...to have you both taking care of me like this, to not remember what's happened from one minute to the next."

Crusher reached over and touched his arm. "Don't worry about it, Jean-Luc. We understand."

Troi breezed out of the other bedroom. "So, are we going on our walk?"

Crusher squeezed Picard's arm. "Are we?"

"By all means."

~vVv~

They didn't walk far. But far enough. And they should have seen it coming.

_I should have seen it coming, _Crusher thought as she wrapped an arm around Picard's shoulders. He pushed his face against her neck, and she almost tripped the closer he got to her. Troi walked on the other side of him, her arm linked with his, helping him along.

Their walk had started out just fine. But every step Picard took grew more difficult for him. And they finally turned back.

His face was wet with frustrated tears when they got back to the cabin. Crusher led him into the bedroom, helped him undress and put on his pajamas. Then he climbed under the covers and leaned against the pillow while the doctor ran her tricorder over him. His brain activity had dropped, although it wasn't as low as it had been.

"He's fighting it," Troi whispered from the doorway.

Crusher nodded. "I know." She ran her fingers over Picard's flushed cheeks. "Jean-Luc, it's all right. Just relax."

He couldn't stop the tears. The frustration. He wanted something, but he didn't know what. He reached out, touched Crusher's hair. He still knew her. "Bev..."

She wrapped her arms around his body and rocked him, singing softly into his ear. A few moments later, Troi handed her a bottle of warm milk. She took it, unsure if Picard would accept it from her.

Troi sensed her uncertainty. "Try it, Beverly."

"Jean-Luc." Crusher shifted him in her arms, stroking her hand over his cheek. The familiar light in his eyes was still there, but distant, vulnerable. She held the bottle to his lips, and there was only a moment of hesitation before he sighed and took the nipple into his mouth. His eyes closed, and his body relaxed against her.

~vVv~


	14. Chapter 14

Picard sat on the floor next to the coffee table, colored chalk and paper spread out in front of him. All of his attention was focused on the picture he was coloring. Troi sat opposite him, coloring as well.

Tandem play, she had reminded Crusher earlier. A stage of development in two-year-olds. They were both very familiar with it. Although, it was disconcerting to see Picard experiencing it.

After he'd awakened from his nap, it had been very apparent that there had been a large shift in his mental capabilities. Both women had been expecting this possibility, but still it was very difficult to deal with.

Crusher watched from the kitchen where she was preparing supper. He hadn't spoken since he'd awakened a half hour ago, although he'd cried when he found the bottle he was still holding was empty. She'd refilled it, and now it sat on the table beside him, seemingly forgotten.

"But it's there if he wants it," Troi had explained.

The counselor looked over at Picard's picture. She knew immediately who it was, but asked him anyway. "Jean-Luc, who is that?" She pointed to the figure on his paper.

Picard pushed her hand away.

"Tell me who it is?" she insisted, moving her finger back.

"Uhh," he grunted, pushing at her hand again.

Crusher stepped over from the kitchen area. "Who is it, Deanna?"

Troi smiled up at her. "You tell me."

Crusher came around the sofa and sat down behind Picard, peering over his shoulder. The tiny drawing was smudged, but the colors and features were unmistakable. She touched Picard on the back of his neck, trying to draw his attention toward her. "Jean-Luc, is that Will?"

Picard sat up straighter and craned his head around, looking at her over his shoulder. His eyes were bright. "W-Will," he stuttered.

Crusher smiled. "That's right. And who am I?"

He grinned. "Bev-lee."

"What's my name?" Troi asked, drawing his attention back across the table.

"Dan-nuh."

"That's right." Troi reached over and squeezed his hand. "Very good." She picked up some blocks from the floor and set them on the table. She held one out to him. "What is this?"

Picard reached for it.

She pulled it back. "What is it, Jean-Luc?" she repeated.

He reached for it again.

And again, she pulled it away.

"Ahh," he yelled and slapped at her.

Troi caught hold of his wrist. "No, Jean-Luc," she reprimanded, gently but firmly, "no hitting."

He frowned and tears filled his eyes.

Crusher shook her head. "I think someone is getting tired."

"Yeah," Troi laughed, setting the block on the table and getting up off the floor, "and so is Jean-Luc."

Picard grabbed the block Troi had left behind, and looked up at her, proud of himself for getting it.

"He's very demanding," Troi observed.

"Is that demanding or commanding?" Crusher questioned, getting up as well and returning to the kitchen.

Troi went and sat down on a stool next to the bar, gratefully accepting the glass of wine Crusher handed her. She watched Picard continue his solitary playing, pleased that all the blocks and pieces of chalk were his now, and he didn't have to share them with anyone. She smiled. "I suppose his personality is the same in some respects."

"Do you sense any familiar emotions from him?"

Troi shook her head. "No. Not really. Mostly all I sense are very basic emotions: frustration, anger, pleasure. But look at him, can you see how proud he is of himself? He thinks he's won something because I've left him alone with all the toys." She took a sip of her wine. "He's still smart, Beverly."

"Is that your way of saying that he's still Jean-Luc Picard?"

"I guess so." Troi stared across the kitchen. "So, what are we having for supper?"

"I hope you're not hungry just yet. I thought we might try to get him to eat something, and then put him to bed before we eat."

Troi nodded. "That's a good idea. He needs something more than just milk."

"He does. And even though he'll eat when his mind is lucid, there's no telling how long these regressive episodes will last." Crusher went over and retrieved a plate of chicken nuggets, already cut up into small pieces. "Wesley loved these when he was little."

She placed the plate on the table. "Jean-Luc?"

He looked up from the tower of blocks he was building.

"Are you hungry?"

He could see that there was something on the table. He pushed himself up off the floor and wandered over to Crusher, his fingers already reaching out to play with whatever the new toy was.

"Just one minute," Crusher caught hold of his hand, and guided him into a chair. She tucked a napkin into the top of his shirt, and then sat down next to him. She let go of his hand, and he touched the chicken, pushing the pieces around on the plate. Then he picked one up.

"It's chicken, Jean-Luc. You can eat it." She took hold of his hand and lifted it to his lips. He refused to open his mouth. Pulling his hand away from hers, he threw the piece of chicken across the room.

Troi sighed, and took another drink of her wine. Crusher stared over at her.

"Hey, I tried with the blocks," Troi reasoned. "The chicken is all yours."

Crusher picked up another piece. "Look, Jean-Luc, you eat it." She put the piece in her mouth, chewed and swallowed.

Picard watched. Then he picked up a piece.

"That's it, Jean-Luc," Crusher praised him.

He pushed the chicken nugget against her lips.

"No, no, you eat it."

He shook his head, and threw the piece in the same direction he'd thrown the other one. Troi suppressed a laugh.

Crusher glared at her. "This is not a laughing matter, Deanna. He has to eat."

"Yes, but we both know what he's holding out for."

Realizing that no one was paying much attention to him, Picard reached out and pushed the plate of remaining chicken nuggets across the table. It clattered to the floor. He laughed. And so did Troi.

Crusher sighed. "No bottle. Not yet. I'll try some soup." She went to the replicator and returned with a bowl of chicken soup. She dipped a spoon into it and held it out to Picard. "Jean-Luc."

He stared at her, and surprisingly, he opened his mouth and allowed her to spoon feed him the warm soup. He ate it all, and when he was finished, he got up from the table and went to the sofa, climbed onto it. He leaned over, retrieved the bottle he had left on the table earlier, and proceeded to finish it.

"Let him have his dessert, Beverly," Troi said with a smile.

Crusher shrugged. "That's fine. At least he ate the soup."

~vVv~

The next several days were difficult. More so for Crusher and Troi, than they were for Picard. In some ways, he seemed to take it all in stride.

When he was aware of his surroundings, he spent much of his time talking with the counselor and the doctor. Occasionally, he read. And when the regressive episodes occurred, he would allow Crusher to read to him, or sing him songs. And Troi would play with him, draw pictures and build castles with blocks.

The transitions from awareness to regression usually happened when he was tired, or while he was actually sleeping, and so he took very little notice of the shift in his mental abilities. And the changes from regression to lucidity seemed to happen randomly. If Troi were with him, she would immediately sense the alteration in his thinking. And Crusher could see it in his eyes. They found that they could ease him back into reality by simply placing a hand against his cheek and reassuring him that he was all right, and that they were there for him.

The only situation that was extremely distressing for Picard was coming to awareness and finding himself cuddled into Crusher's arms while she held a bottle to his mouth. He would stiffen and sit up abruptly, push her hand away from his face. She would see the disgust he felt written plainly in his eyes. And although she assured him that everything was all right, the best thing to do was to take the bottle away and leave him alone for a while.

"Perhaps we should stop giving it to him all together," Troi suggested late one afternoon.

Picard had just stalked into his bedroom after "waking up" to find himself sprawled on the sofa, his bottle in hand. He'd flung it across the den, glared angrily at Crusher and Troi and disappeared into the relative safety of his bedroom. They knew from experience that he'd stay in there for at least a half hour before venturing out again.

"Deanna, he barely eats anything even when he is lucid. And when he's regressed... I put a lot of extra nutrients and vitamins into that milk," Crusher explained. "And besides, it's the sense of security that he likes."

"When he's in regression. But when he comes out of it and he sees it in his hand, he can't pretend that those regressive episodes don't exist."

"That's right." Crusher thought for a moment. "But Deanna, if we take the bottle away, then Jean-Luc could pretend that those regressive episodes don't exist. And that's not what we want. He has to learn to deal with them, until they're gone."

Troi sighed. "You're right. And you know what? I think I'm letting his emotions affect me too much these past few days." They'd only been in the cabin for a week, but it felt like months. "Beverly, I know initially that we felt it would be better for him to...go through this here in the cabin. But, I don't think we took ourselves into consideration."

They were the same thoughts that had been going through Crusher's head all day. "We're both guilty of always putting our patients' needs first, forgetting that what they need the most are well-adjusted caregivers."

Troi laughed slightly, despite the serious nature of their conversation. "Now, I'm not implying that either of us is maladjusted."

Crusher smiled. "No, of course not. But we are very isolated here."

"I'm not so sure that this cabin is what Jean-Luc needs anymore," Troi said thoughtfully. "Neither am I," Crusher concurred.

"We all need to go home." The words came from the bedroom door. Picard stood there, his arms wrapped securely in front of him.

Crusher could see that he was trembling. She patted the sofa beside her, and he slowly came and sat down next to her. She draped an arm warmly around his shoulders. "So, how much of our conversation did you hear?" she inquired.

Picard exhaled a deep breath. "All of it."

Troi studied him from across the coffee table. "And what do you think about what you heard?"

He swallowed convulsively and then answered. "I know the regressive episodes exist. I'm even beginning to remember some aspects of them."

Crusher sat up. "Are you?"

Picard nodded. 'Yes. Does that mean something?"

Troi answered. "It might. I know that when dealing with psychological regression, the ability for the conscious part of the mind to remember the regressive episodes is an indication of acceptance. And acceptance allows integration."

Crusher rubbed a hand along Picard's back. "And even though your regression is partly physiological, the same may hold true. After all, your neural receptors are trying to integrate new ways of thinking."

"And it's not all physiological anyway, is it, Deanna?" Picard asked, knowing the answer already.

"No. There are psychological elements as well." She smiled, proud to hear him admit it to himself.

"I will get better?"

Crusher and Troi exchanged glances.

"We still think so," Crusher assured him.

"But it may take a few more weeks," Troi added.

Picard considered the counselor's words. "I'd still like to go home. If it's all right."

Crusher pulled him closer to her. "It's more than all right."

Picard smiled with relief. "And as for the other matter..."

Crusher wasn't sure what he was referring to at first, but Troi knew. And the doctor realized also with Picard's next words.

"Please, don't give it to me anymore."

~vVv~

While Troi contacted the _Enterprise _and made the arrangements for their return, Crusher walked Picard back into his bedroom. He shrugged out of his robe, and tiredly climbed into bed. He allowed the doctor to tuck the covers around his shoulders.

"I guess it's bedtime?" he asked, suppressing a yawn.

Crusher sat on the edge of his bed, smiling down at him. "Close enough. Are you tired?"

"Exhausted," he admitted.

She smoothed her hand over his forehead. "You're sure you want to go back to the ship?"

"I'm sure. I..." He yawned again and rubbed at his eyes. "I don't know what I'll do there, but I want to go back."

"So do I. New Colorado is beautiful. But it's not the _Enterprise."_

"No. It's not."

Picard was silent for a few moments, his eyes half closed. Crusher thought he was falling asleep, but then he spoke.

"Beverly, if I'm never able to regain command-"

"Jean-Luc, it's not time to think about that."

He opened his eyes and looked up at her. "No. Listen to me. If I'm never able to regain command, you have to make Will understand that he has to take over the _Enterprise."_

Crusher sighed and repeated her words. "It's not time to think about that. And besides, if that time comes, which it won't, you can talk to Will yourself."

Picard's eyes widened. "No. I don't want to talk to him."

Crusher's expression grew even more concerned and she ran her hand along Picard's arm. "Why not?"

"I...I don't want him to see me like this."

"You mean, when we're back on board the ship, you don't want to see Will at all."

Picard nodded.

"But, Jean-Luc..."

He reached out, grabbed hold of her hand and held it tightly. "Please, Beverly. I...I can't see him. Not yet. Just you and Deanna. All right?" His eyes pleaded with her.

She smiled slightly, reassuringly. "All right," she promised. "Now, you get some sleep." She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

He closed his eyes, and still holding her hand, he drifted off to sleep.

~vVv~

"The ship will return for us in the morning," Troi said when Crusher emerged from Picard's room fifteen minutes later.

The doctor didn't respond, but walked over to the sofa and sat down wearily, running her hands through her hair. Troi went over and sat beside her.

"Beverly?"

Crusher let out a deep breath. "He's giving up, Deanna."

"What do you mean?"

"He doesn't believe that he's going to get better. He's preparing himself to give permanent command to Will. Only he doesn't want to see Will when we get back to the ship."

"I think he'll change his mind about seeing Will. Or Will will change it for him." Troi smiled. "He'll want to see the captain. And Will Riker doesn't take no for an answer."

"But he doesn't want him to see him like he is now. And I think...I think we have to respect that, Deanna."

"We will. For a while. But, Beverly," Troi reached over and touched Crusher's arm, "eventually we're going to have to help Jean-Luc face some things he's afraid of. He can't avoid Will for the rest of his life. And regardless of the outcome of his recovery, he can't stay here or in his quarters forever."

Crusher drew in another deep breath and let it out slowly. "You're right. I'm just frightened for him. His sense of control has always been so important to him, and every time it's taken away, I feel like a little bit of him dies." Tears had filled Crusher's eyes, and she hastily tried to brush them away.

Troi moved her hands to her friend's shoulders, holding her securely. "Beverly."

Crusher shook her head. "I don't want to lose him, Deanna."

Troi pulled her into an embrace. "You won't," she promised.

~vVv~


	15. Chapter 15

In many ways, they were just as isolated back on board the _Enterprise _as they had been on the planet. Crusher knew that Picard was relieved to be on the ship, but also uneasy. He spent a lot of time sitting quietly, reading or looking out the viewport. He was reluctant to talk, as if talking would somehow cause him to slip into regression. She allowed him his time alone, but checked on him often, needing to reassure herself that he was all right.

She stopped and leaned against the door frame, silently watching him. He sat on the edge of his bed, turned away from her, staring out the viewport. The last time she'd checked on him, he'd been reading, but the book lay open on the floor in front of him now, as if it had slipped from his hand unnoticed.

"Jean-Luc?" she spoke his name quietly, not wanting to surprise him.

"I'm here," he answered, equally as quiet, not turning to face her.

She breathed a soft sigh of relief. He was still with her. "You're awfully quiet in here," she said, crossing over to the bed.

He shrugged. "Just tired," he murmured.

She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Well then, let's get you in bed." She tried to help him up so that she could pull the blankets back.

"I don't need you to tuck me in," he snapped suddenly, pushing her hand away.

Crusher stepped back. "Of course, you don't. I'll, uh...just be next door if you do need anything." She started to leave.

"Beverly." His voice was hoarse, low. _Don't go._

She stopped and waited. _I'm here._

He turned his head away from the viewport. Tears were trailing down his cheeks. "I'm...sorry," he whispered. He rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. "I...I, um..." He gasped, fighting the sobs that welled within him. _Don't go._

Crusher returned to the bed and sat down beside him, gently wrapped an arm around his back. "I know, Jean-Luc," she soothed, allowing him to lay his head on her shoulder. "I know."

And she did know; she understood. He was frightened, and it was a fear that he couldn't explain, couldn't put into words.

"I'm here. Jean-Luc." She hugged him closer. "We're both here."

~vVv~

He cried.

And she held him.

He cried.

And she rocked him in her arms.

He cried.

And she held a cup to his lips.

Angrily, he pushed it away.

He cried.

And then, he slept.

And she cried.

~vVv~

He was sleeping quietly now, on top of the blankets, his head on Crusher's lap. She leaned against the pillows, one hand gently stroking his back. She knew, even while he slept, that he was in regression. His thumb was pushed half-way into his mouth, and she ran the fingers of her other hand over his chin, wiping away the saliva that had drooled from his lips. He shifted at her touch, his cheek pressing closer to her thigh. He exhaled a deep, long breath, but continued to sleep.

And Crusher was relieved. He needed to sleep. He'd cried for almost an hour, and nothing she said or did gave him any comfort. She'd rocked him, and sung to him, and tried to get him to drink some warm milk from a cup. He would have nothing to do with it, and she knew why. She knew what he wanted. What she and Troi had agreed not to give to him. And she hadn't broken their promise, though a part of her had wanted to break it, had wanted to give him anything to make his pain go away.

But he was peaceful now, and Crusher released a sigh of relief, her hand rubbing the back of his neck. She heard the outer door open and close, and she looked up, expecting to see Troi. Instead, she found Will Riker standing in the bedroom doorway.

"Will, what are you doing here?" she asked quietly.

"I wanted to see him. I talked to Deanna. She knows I'm here."

Crusher shook her head. "I'm not sure if it's a good idea."

"Deanna said you would say that. She told me to tell you that it's time." He stepped over and sat down on the chair beside the bed.

Gently, Crusher ran her hand over Picard's back. She sighed. "Deanna's right. He misses you. But his stubborn pride gets in the way."

"I've missed him, too." Riker hesitated. "I'd like...to wait until he wakes up."

Crusher frowned slightly. "I don't know...how he'll be."

"It doesn't matter." Riker smiled. "I just want to be here." _With him._

~vVv~

A half hour later, Picard's eyes blinked open and he yawned, his hand rubbing over his face. He stretched, legs pushing toward the end of the bed, arms extending above his head.

Even without using a tricorder, Crusher could tell what his mental state was. After watching him closely for the past several weeks, she knew the differences in his movements. But still, she took the tricorder from the bedside table and ran it over him. His brain activity was low, but not as low as it had been. His regressive episodes were maturing. Into "toddler years," Troi had said just the day before. He was more verbal and inquisitive, less frightened of his environment. Crusher wondered how he would be with Riker.

She handed the tricorder to the first officer, letting him see the lowered readings. Riker glanced at them and nodded, then sat back in his chair, allowing Picard time to wake up and adjust to his surroundings.

Picard's eyes were wide open now, staring up at the viewport above the bed. He smiled and rolled over toward Crusher, putting his hand out to her.

She took the offered hand, held it to her cheek for a moment, and then kissed it. Picard laughed softly.

"Hey there, did you sleep well?" she asked.

He nodded and sat up, pressing himself into her arms for a hug. Crusher held him close and whispered into his ear. "There's someone here to see you."

Riker saw Picard's shoulders tense at the doctor's words. He understood what she was saying. Slowly, he turned, still in her embrace, and stared over his shoulder, his expression one of open curiosity and only a touch of fear.

"Hello, Jean-Luc," Riker said quietly, leaning toward him.

Picard tilted his head in a curious manner, and then, pulling away from Crusher slightly, he reached his hand toward Riker. His fingers brushed against the younger man's beard.

"Will," he whispered, a smile lighting his face.

"That's right. It's me. Will."

Picard looked back at Crusher, his eyes questioning despite his smile.

"It is Will," she assured him, and then took a deep breath. "Why don't we ask Will to eat lunch with us."

Picard glanced back at the man. "Lunch...Will?"

Riker nodded. "I'd like that, Jean-Luc."

~vVv~

The peanut butter and jelly sandwich had been pushed aside, only half eaten, in favor of the wooden puzzle that was spread across one end of the dining table. Picard stared intently at the pieces, his large fingers manipulating them, occasionally pushing them into Riker's hand.

The first officer sat across from him, his own sandwich virtually untouched. But he had finished two cups of coffee and was starting on his third. He noticed that the doctor's appetite wasn't any better than his.

"I find that I'm not very hungry most of the time," Crusher said as she cleared away the plates. She left Picard's plate where it was, knowing that he would be upset if he reached out for the rest of his sandwich and found it gone. "I try to eat with him when he's not in regression. I think it makes him feel more comfortable."

Riker nodded and then smiled as Picard took his hand, turned it over and pressed a puzzle piece into it. He tried fitting it into the puzzle on the table, but Picard pushed his hand away.

"He just wants you to hold it," Crusher explained. She'd watched him with Troi the day before. He liked to put the pieces together himself.

Riker turned his hand back over, fingers spread, palm up, so that Picard could put the various pieces in his hand and take them out when he wanted them.

"Deanna was right. He really is like..." Riker"s voice trailed off.

"Like a three-year-old," Crusher finished his thought.

Reluctantly, Riker inclined his head in agreement.

"But he's growing," Crusher continued. "Every day. He's talking more when he's in regression, trying to do more things for himself. Like that puzzle. A week ago he could barely put one block on top of another."

Riker studied the puzzle before him, could see that several of the pieces were connected correctly, and the image was beginning to take shape. It was a starship.

"How long does each episode last?" he asked.

Crusher sighed. "It varies. A matter of minutes, several hours. Although they seem to be growing shorter since we've been back on board."

"And does he remember anything about them?"

Crusher shrugged. "Sometimes I think he does. He told us last week that he was beginning to recall some things. But...he doesn't like to talk about it a lot. Deanna tries to get him to discuss them. But it's stressful."

Picard's hand covered Riker's, and he started to pick up one of the puzzle pieces, but then he froze, his fingers tightening around the younger man's. Riker looked over at him; Picard's shoulders flinched and his head shook. Riker glanced back at Crusher. She moved around the side of the table and placed her hand on Picard's back.

"Beverly?" Riker said quietly.

She shook her head as if to silence him. Her hand smoothed over Picard's neck.

A few seconds later, Picard looked up, and his eyes locked onto Riker's. Immediately, he looked away, down toward the table, saw that his hand was clenched around his first officer's hand. He pulled it away and got up from the table. He glanced at Crusher. She could tell he was angry.

"Jean-Luc..." She reached for him, but he moved away quickly, crossing the cabin and disappearing into his bedroom.

Crusher exhaled a long breath, her hands resting on the back of the chair that Picard had just vacated. "He doesn't want to see you. And yet he does." She moved to follow him, but Riker stood up.

"Let me go."

"Will..."

Riker placed a hand on her arm. "He needs to see me, Beverly. You know that. Whether he's in regression or not."

Crusher looked up into Riker's eyes, saw the concern evident in them. He squeezed her arm. "I care about him, too. He'll be all right." She nodded. And Riker turned and went into the next room.

Picard stood on the opposite side of the bed, staring out of the viewport, his back to the doorway.

"Captain?" Riker's voice was low.

"Please leave."

Riker took a step further into the room.

Picard knew he was still there. "I don't want you here." He was fighting to keep his voice steady.

"I know. But I want to be here."

"Leave, Commander." Picard turned around. He was shaking, his fists pushed into the pockets of his robe. "That's an order."

Riker drew in a deep breath and sat down in the bedside chair. "You can't give orders right now. I'm sorry."

Picard stared at him, then he turned away and sank onto the side of the bed, defeated, his shoulders sagging. "I may never give orders again," he breathed, his voice husky.

"That's where you're wrong. This is just temporary. You know that."

"No..." He shook his head. "I don't know..." He gasped and rubbed his hand over his face and eyes. "Please... Will... I don't want you...involved...with this."

"But I'm already involved. You chose me to be your first officer. That means your health is one of my main concerns. And I want to be a part of your recovery."

"If I recover," Picard murmured.

But Riker heard. "So that when you recover, our working relationship will be strengthened. And when you go back on the bridge, and you will, you'll know that you can depend on me."

"I already know that," Picard said quietly.

Riker stood up and stepped around to the other side of the bed. "Then depend on me now."

Picard looked up at the tall man standing beside him, and he sighed, blinking back the tears that still filled his eyes. "So...what do you want to do, now that you're here?"

Riker smiled slightly. "We could go back into the next room and discuss ship's business."

"And when I'm not able to discuss business, what then?"

"Well, there's a puzzle on the dining table that needs finishing. Perhaps we could finish it together."

~vVv~

"Aren't you glad you let him stay?" Crusher smiled down at Picard from where she sat on the edge of his bed. Her hand brushed along the side of his face, her fingers feathering along his neck.

He shifted in the bed, pulling the covers closer around him, adjusting the pillow under his head. Even when he wasn't in regression, Crusher still insisted on tucking him in at bedtime. It aggravated him sometimes, but deep down, he liked it. It made him feel safe.

"I didn't let him stay, Beverly," he answered with a sigh. "I had no choice. He reminded me that I couldn't give orders."

"You know what I mean. It was good to talk to him, wasn't it?"

Picard let out a heavy breath. "Yes," he admitted, "it was good to talk to him. But it...it bothers me to know that he's here when... when I'm not myself."

Crusher ran her hand over his forehead. "Try not to worry about it. Besides, there's a part of you that needs Will to be there during those times."

'You're beginning to sound like Deanna," he complained.

Crusher smiled. "I'm sorry." She glanced over at the bedside table. A cup of warm milk was sitting there. "Do you want any more milk before I lower the lights?"

Picard shook his head. "No. I'm fine."

"Good. I'm glad to hear you say that." She leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Now, try to get a good night's sleep. I'll be right next door if you need me."

She stood up.

Picard's hand reached out and grabbed hold of her arm. "Beverly? Would you...would you sit with me? Just for a while?"

She settled back onto the edge of the bed. "Of course, I will." She touched the panel on the bedside table and lowered the lights manually.

Picard turned over on his side, his hand reaching out for hers. She squeezed his fingers, and felt him return the pressure.

"Goodnight, Jean," she whispered.

"G'night."

~vVv~


	16. Chapter 16

The next few days passed slowly, but there was a sense of calmness to them that was very much welcome. Picard's shifts from regression to lucidity seemed smooth and effortless. He accepted Riker's presence regardless of his state of mind. And that was good, because he'd needed someone else in his small world. And Riker was like a big brother when he was in regression. A new friend to play with, and even get into trouble with on occasion.

"Jean-Luc?" Crusher called into the next room, but made no move toward it. Instead, her attention was focused on the table before her.

Open jars of paint were spread over it, glasses of water, crumpled pieces of paper. And that was only at one end. The other end was piled high with books, and blocks, and puzzle pieces.

Usually, Crusher made it a habit to put away the items that Picard found comforting during his regressive episodes. She'd noticed that he didn't really like to see them when he was lucid. She'd been trying to teach him to put his things away as well. But she'd just spent the last hour in Sickbay and had left Picard with Riker.

"Will?" she called out again, for she'd received no response.

"We're in here," Riker's voice replied from the bedroom.

'Yes, I realized that you probably were," Crusher said evenly as she walked toward the next room. "I was hoping one of you would come back in here and clean up the mess you've left on the..." Her words trailed off when she came to the doorway. The bedroom beyond was strewn with many of the same items that littered the table.

Picard and Riker were sitting on top of the bed playing a game. It looked like checkers.

Riker looked up at the doctor with a smile. "He's beating me," he laughed.

Picard grinned at Crusher, but then noticed the look on her face. His grin faded. Even though he was in regression, he was now mentally old enough to know when Crusher was upset.

And as difficult as it was for them, both Crusher and Troi had decided that they would have to treat Picard as they would any other child. Of course, Riker was a big kid that neither of them knew what to do with.

"Did it occur to either of you that the dining table and this floor need cleaning?" She said the words slowly, addressing them both, but staring at Riker.

The bearded man shrugged. "I guess we were having too much fun."

Crusher sighed. "Well, the fun is over." She took a step toward the bed, reaching her hand out to Picard. "Come on, Jean-Luc, let's start cleaning the dining table and we'll let Will take care of this room."

Picard frowned and stared hard at Riker as he got off the bed, his hand taking hold of Crusher's. His expression seemed to be one of blame, as if it were Riker's fault that they were in trouble.

"Hey, Jean-Luc, I'm sorry." Riker shook his head. "I didn't know she'd be angry."

"You're a bad influence," Crusher said with only a touch of humor in her voice.

Riker got up off the bed as well. "I always have been," he admitted, bending down and beginning to pick up the items off the floor. "I guess I'll have to stop visiting," he teased.

Picard hesitated at the doorway and looked back at the man. His face was lined with tension. "No," he breathed, his voice shaking.

Crusher ran her hand over his back. "It's all right, Jean-Luc. Will's just teasing. He'll come back to visit. Whenever you want to see him." She felt his shoulders relax, and she glanced over at Riker. "He depends on you, Will."

Riker sighed. "It won't be long before we're depending on him again." Crusher looked doubtful.

"Believe me. He's coming back to us." Riker crossed over and joined them in the doorway. He draped an arm around Picard's shoulders. "You should have seen the strategy he employed in that last game of checkers. Absolutely brilliant."

~vVv~

He woke sometimes in the middle of the night, and instead of calling out for Crusher, he got up and simply wandered around the cabin, staring at the objects on the shelves. They belonged to him; he knew that. Even when he wasn't quite himself, he knew they were his. And he knew who he was and where he was. But sometimes he was frightened, and he would go and sit next to the sofa. He would watch Crusher sleep. And then he would fall asleep on the floor beside her.

Sometimes he dreamed. Good dreams. A tall man, a woman, a boy. And fields of green.

And nightmares. People dressed in black, with wires and pale faces.

And he would cry out for Crusher then, for he could not be alone after the nightmares.

And she would come and hold him, rocking him gently in her arms.

Even when he was himself, he needed her at those times. And she understood.

Because she loved him.

She told him.

As she would rock him back and forth, she whispered the words into his ear.

"I love you, Jean-Luc. I love you."

And he loved her.

Only he could never tell her.

Even when he lay crying in her arms, he couldn't tell her. He'd never been able to tell her.

He wondered if he ever could.

He wondered if the lights would ever go away.

~vVv~

"I don't see any purpose to this." Picard grimaced and sat down on the sofa, his arms firmly crossed in front of his chest.

"No one said that there had to be a purpose," Crusher replied. "It's just time that you...got out of this cabin."

"I don't want to get out of this cabin. I'm perfectly fine right here." He stared straight ahead, his eyes focused on the far wall.

"Jean-Luc, you've been closed up in here for over a week. A trip to the holodeck will do you some good." She hesitated, then continued. "The corridors between here and Holodeck Three have been cleared of all personnel. There's no reason to worry."

"I'm not worried. I just... I just don't want to go."

"That's not true." Troi said, looking up from where she sat at the dining table. She'd been very quiet for the last several minutes, listening to Picard's thoughts and emotions.

Picard turned and looked at her, their eyes catching.

"I know it's frightening," Troi continued. "In here, you feel protected, safe. You can...pretend that the rest of the world doesn't exist outside the door. But it does. And eventually you will have to be a part of that world."

He lowered his head, his eyes gazing down at the tops of his knees. Crusher sat down on the coffee table in front of him. "Jean-Luc...you are getting better. You have to believe that. I know it doesn't always feel that way, but it's true. You don't have nightmares as often as you did. The regressive episodes aren't as frequent. And your appetite has improved."

He looked up and saw the smile on her face. His appetite, or lack thereof, was always a favorite argument of hers, even when he was healthy.

"I don't know if that says much," he sighed.

"Oh, it says a lot. You ate a full bowl of oatmeal this morning without me having to insist."

Picard rolled his eyes. "I was hungry."

"See there...you are getting better."

"Or desperate."

Troi got up from the table and walked over to the sitting area. "Regardless of the reasons, Beverly's right. You are improving. You're on your way to becoming 'you' again. And it's time that you got out of this cabin. Now, all we're suggesting is that we take a trip to the holodeck. Will's going to meet us there. He said something about the Curtis Creek program."

Picard scowled. "He wants to go fishing?"

Troi smiled, despite Picard's resistance. "No...he wants you to go fishing."

~vVv~

He caught a trout. Rainbow, to be specific. He was surprised by his catch. And even more surprised to realize that he was enjoying himself. He hadn't planned on it. And for the first fifteen minutes had sat glumly by the banks of the creek watching the others cast their fishing lines into the water. Then Riker had put a fishing rod in his hands and refused to take it back. The next thing he knew, he was reeling in a fish.

"Careful, Jean-Luc, not too fast," Riker instructed.

"Will, you take it," Picard offered the rod to him.

"Oh, no, this one's yours." He leaned out over the creek with a net in hand. "Just a little more."

The fish came up out of the water with a splash, and Riker expertly scooped it into the net. "Very good. It's a beauty. Big enough for all of us."

Picard stepped closer, staring at the wriggling fish caught in the net. "You know, the good thing about the holodeck, is that the fish aren't real."

Riker stared at him, and Picard shrugged. "I never have liked the idea of hunting and fishing. I'm sorry, Will. I know it's something you like to do, but I..." He sighed. "Well, like I said, it's...all right on the holodeck, but in real life..."

Riker smiled. "Say no more. I understand."

Just then, Crusher and Troi appeared from the woods, each holding a bucket in their hand.

"Blueberries," Troi explained. "Hundreds of them."

Riker held up the trout. "Fish. One of them."

Troi grinned. "Very good, Will."

Riker shook his head. "It wasn't me."

Crusher gazed over at Picard. "Jean-Luc, I'm impressed."

He blushed slightly. "Beginner's luck."

Crusher frowned slightly. "This isn't your first time to go fishing."

"First time in a long time. Not since..." His voice trailed off. The last time he'd gone fishing had been with Jack. Maybe that was the real reason why he didn't enjoy it as much. Too many memories.

"Well, I suggest we call up a campsite and have dinner right here on the holodeck," Riker said, turning toward Troi.

But Crusher noticed Picard's shoulders sag as he sighed tiredly. "Will," she spoke up, "it sounds like a wonderful idea, but maybe we should do it another night. It's been a long day."

They'd only been on the holodeck for a little over two hours, but the sun was setting and it seemed late.

"I think Beverly's right," Troi agreed, stepping over to Picard and linking her arm in his. She patted him on the shoulder. "And besides, I think our star fisherman needs some rest."

Picard smiled. "I think our star counselor is right." He glanced over at Riker. "But, thank you, Will. It was...fun."

~vVv~

"No!" The scream tore through the cabin, and Crusher jumped off the sofa and ran into the next room. It was empty. She crossed quickly to the bathroom and activated the door. It slid open and she went inside.

Picard stood in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the mirror. All he had on were a pair of undershorts; his other clothes were piled on the counter next to the sink. There was water in the tub, as if he'd been about to take a bath.

Crusher stepped closer to him. "Jean-Luc?"

He turned and stared at her. "Beverly?"

She nodded. "It's all right." She held her hand out to him, and he took hold of it. His hand was freezing.

"Jean, what is it?"

"I...I don't know," he breathed. "I thought...I thought I saw... In the mirror..."

Crusher glanced into the mirror. All she saw was their reflection. "There's nothing there, Jean-Luc." She moved closer to him. her other hand touching his shoulder. He was trembling. "Come on, let's get you in bed. You can take a bath tomorrow."

He nodded his head and allowed her to lead him into his bedroom. She set him down on the edge of the bed and went to get his pajamas. When she returned, she saw that he was crying. Sitting down next to him, she drew him into her arms.

"It's all right, Jean-Luc."

"No..." he gasped. "I thought...I thought I was getting better. And now... Now I'm seeing things that aren't there." His crying intensified, and he buried his head against her chest.

She ran her hands over his neck and back and rocked him. She had no idea what he thought he'd seen. But she was frightened. She and Troi hadn't been expecting him to experience hallucinations.

~vVv~

"He didn't tell you what it was?" Troi stared across the coffee table at her.

Crusher shook her head. "No. And he was too upset for me to ask him any questions. I almost had to give him a sedative, but he finally...cried himself to sleep." She exhaled a heavy breath. "Deanna, I thought he was improving, and now...this."

Troi was silent for a few moments, her eyes staring down at the table. And then she looked up at the doctor. "He is improving, Beverly. But I think there's a part of him that doesn't want to."

"You think he's afraid of getting well?"

Troi sighed. "Not consciously. And, I could be wrong, but... Just like this afternoon. He did not want to leave this cabin and go to the holodeck. But once he was there, he was all right. He functioned outside of this cabin. Without mishap, without regressing. He was Jean-Luc Picard. And...I think that was frightening for him."

Crusher leaned back against the sofa. "I think you're right. The closer he gets to full recovery, the sooner he has to walk back onto the bridge and be the captain of this ship." She frowned. "But Deanna, do you really think that his mind is creating hallucinations?"

"Between the psychological trauma and the nerve damage, it's a possibility."

"What do we do?"

Troi smiled faintly. "I think I have a lot of talking ahead of me."

~vVv~

"What did you see in the mirror?"

He turned away from her and stared out the viewport.

"I won't go away."

Picard took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling. "I know."

"So, are you going to tell me what you saw in the mirror?"

"It...it was just a reflection."

"Of what?"

He shook his head. "Deanna..."

"Like I said, I won't go away."

He looked back at her. "There were...four lights. And I thought I saw...a Cardassian."

"The same image you saw on the bridge viewscreen two weeks ago?"

Picard's eyes squinted slightly. "Has it only been two weeks?"

Troi nodded. "Give or take a day." She studied him carefully. His face was lined with tension, his cheeks were pale, and his hands were knotted tightly together in his lap. "Was it the same image?"

"Yes."

"Why do you think you saw it?"

He shrugged. "Because I'm...just seeing things now."

"Why now?"

He grimaced. "I don't know. Why...any of this? Why was I captured by the Cardassians? Why was I..." His voice trailed off, and he allowed his eyes to drop down to his hands.

"Go on," Troi prompted.

"There's nothing to say."

"I think there's a lot to say. And it's all right to be afraid to say it."

"All right." He looked up. "You're right. I am afraid. Is that what you want me to say? I'm afraid. I'm...terrified. Scared out of my mind." He laughed softly. "So scared I've...lost my mind."

"No, you haven't." Troi reached over and touched her hand to his knee. "I know you think you have; a part of you wants...to believe that you have. But you imagined seeing four lights, not five. You're not crazy, Jean-Luc."

"Then what?"

"Exactly what you said. You're afraid. And our minds can play terrible tricks on us when we're afraid. It doesn't mean we've lost our minds; it's more like our minds have lost us."

Picard reached up and rubbed a hand over his forehead. "I think you've just lost me."

Troi smiled. "I'm sorry. I should be more direct."

"I'm not sure I want you to be direct."

Her hand squeezed his knee. "You are Jean-Luc Picard."

He nodded. "That's...pretty direct."

She sighed. "Let me finish."

He was silent.

"You are Jean-Luc Picard. And that's not an easy person to be. Captain, leader, role model. The one who has to remain calm and in control. And-"

"Well, I've failed there, haven't I?" he interrupted. "I haven't been very calm and in control for the past month."

"It's not the first time you've had your sense of control taken away from you." She held his gaze steadily.

"You're talking about the Borg."

"Yes, I am. And you regained your control."

"Thanks to Data."

"Partly," Troi agreed. "But we've talked about this before. You broke away from the Borg even before all the links were severed. Because you knew that the ship needed you. We needed you."

He bent his head, his gaze falling back down to his lap. Troi moved closer to him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. He tried to pull away, but she held him firmly.

"And we still need you."

~vVv~


	17. Chapter 17

The puzzle was almost finished. They'd all worked on it. Even when Picard wasn't in regression. In some ways, it was symbolic of what they were going through. Trying to piece something back together.

Picard sat at the dining table, a cup of Earl Grey tea in one hand, the fingers of his other hand idly pushing puzzle pieces into place. He looked up as Crusher came in from the next room. She had on her blue lab jacket and was arranging the collar around her neck.

"I wish you'd come with me," she said, not for the first time.

Picard shook his head. "No, thank you, Doctor. You'd strap me down to a bio-bed and do terrible things to me." He gave her a half smile.

"Well, if that's your way of saying I'd give you a thorough physical, you're right. My tricorder readings are accurate, but it's just not the same."

"I'll be fine here, Beverly. Will and I have some reports to go over." He took a sip of his tea. "And besides, he lets me pretend I'm making decisions."

Crusher frowned and stepped over to the table. She reached down and placed a hand on Picard's arm. "Jean-Luc, you are making decisions. And Will isn't reviewing ship's business with you just for the fun of it. He depends on your insights and expertise."

With a shrug of his shoulders, Picard smiled up at her. "Just as I depend on yours."

Crusher squeezed his arm. "Thank you. Now, let that be your last cup of tea for a while. You're drinking entirely too much lately."

Picard sighed. "But Beverly-"

"I know how you feel about your Earl Grey, but I'm serious. You need to drink more milk, or water."

"Can I have a little bread with that?" he deadpanned.

"Only if you're a model prisoner," she returned.

Just then, the door chime sounded.

"Ah, changing of the guards," Picard mumbled, and took another sip of tea.

"Come in," Crusher called.

The door slid open and Will Riker came inside. "Hello," he greeted them, stepping over to the table.

"Good afternoon, Will," Picard said, indicating the chair across from him with a wave of his tea cup. "Have a seat."

Riker settled into the chair. Crusher laid a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Will. I'll be back later this afternoon. Would you do me a favor and make sure that's his last cup of tea for the day."

"And put him down for his nap at 1500 hours," Picard added. "Sooner, if he doesn't behave himself."

Crusher shook her head. "And don't let him give you a hard time." She leaned over and kissed Picard on the cheek. "Be nice to Will," she whispered. "I'll be back later."

And then she was gone, the door sliding closed behind her.

Riker stared across the table at his captain, and slowly shook his head. "You have been giving her a difficult time, haven't you?" he asked with a grin.

"It gives me something to do besides this puzzle," Picard replied.

Riker glanced down at the table. "It's coming along nicely, though." He ran a finger over the interlocking pieces. "We've just got to finish this part right in here."

Picard nodded. "Yeah. The captain's yacht. I can't find it."

"Well, ship's business will have to wait." His fingers started sifting through loose pieces. "We can't have a missing yacht."

Picard smiled and joined the search, their conversation turning to ship's business after all. It was reassuring to know that things were running smoothly, but a little disconcerting to realize that they were running smoothly without him. But Will Riker was a more than capable first officer, and Picard would have expected no less in his absence.

"I think this goes somewhere," Riker said, holding a puzzle piece up in his hand.

"Well, of course, it goes somewhere," Picard responded.

"No, I mean I think it's part of the yacht."

They'd been working on the puzzle for almost an hour, and still the captain's yacht eluded them.

Picard pushed several pieces randomly around the table and sighed. "Why can't I do this? It's not even a difficult puzzle. Look at the size of the pieces."

Riker detected the edge of tension in Picard's voice. He looked up and studied the older man's face. Lines creased his forehead, and his lips were pulled into a tight frown.

"Hey," he said lightly, "I'm having some trouble with it, too. It's not easy."

"It's a puzzle, Will. A toy... I can't... I just can't...get it." Picard's hand closed around several pieces, and he squeezed them tightly in his fist. He closed his eyes, and Riker watched as the tension in his face relaxed a bit. A few moments later, his eyes opened. And Riker could see the innocence reflected in them.

"Jean-Luc?" He reached out and touched Picard's hand.

"I can't do it," he murmured.

Riker closed his hand around Picard's, realizing that he'd regressed. He exhaled a heavy breath. It had been three days since his last episode.

"It's all right, Jean-Luc. Why don't we leave it for a while, do something else?"

"No!" Picard pulled his hand away. "I want to finish it." He pounded his fist on the table. "Why can't I do it?"

"Maybe you're just tired," Riker tried to reason. "You can take a rest and later-"

Picard's eyes flashed up at him. "I don't want to take a nap," he yelled. "I want..." He hesitated. "Will...I feel strange."

Riker reached over and placed his hand back on Picard's. "It's all right. I'm with you."

"Why...why do I feel like this?" He scrubbed his other hand over his eyes, wiping at the tears that had gathered there. "Why?"

Riker strengthened his grip on Picard's hand. "It'll pass, Jean-Luc," he assured him.

Picard shook his head, his body beginning to tremble with fear. "I can't do it." He pushed at the puzzle with his other hand, and several of the pieces tore apart. Anger flashed over his face. "I can't!" he yelled again, and pulled his hand away from Riker"s. He pushed at the puzzle once more, and it slid off the table, half the pieces landing in Riker's lap, the other half scattering onto the floor.

Tears were streaming down his face now, and he was gasping for breath.

"Jean-Luc?" Riker reached out to him, but he pushed at the younger man's hands.

"Leave me alone," he shouted, jumping up from the table. He took a step back and ran into the wall. He flinched, looking around furtively, as if he were an animal caught in a trap.

Riker stood up. "Jean-Luc." He said the name firmly, trying to draw him back to some sense of reality.

"No...no." He began to cry steadily, tears blurring his vision. He managed to move away from the table and across the cabin toward his bedroom.

Riker didn't move to intercept him, but watched as he disappeared into the next room. Then he followed him.

Picard was sitting on the edge of his bed, rocking back and forth in a steady rhythm. His face and eyes were red, his nose running, each breath a shallow gasp. Riker crossed over and sat down next to him. He tried putting an arm around him.

Picard shook his head and pushed him away.

"Jean-Luc?"

"No..." His crying intensified, and he turned away from Riker, collapsing onto the bed, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably with each sob.

Riker sat for a moment, knowing that his presence wasn't helping. Reluctantly, he stood. "I'll be in the next room, Jean-Luc," he said, not sure whether Picard heard or cared. And he left him, crying inconsolably, on the bed.

~vVv~

Crusher was disappointed when she came back from Sickbay late that afternoon to find the puzzle in pieces on the floor.

"He, uh... He got a little frustrated," Riker explained, looking up from where he sat on the sofa.

"Where is he?"

Riker glanced toward the bedroom. "He's sleeping."

Crusher went to the half open door and looked in on him. He was lying on his stomach, his back rising and falling in a gentle rhythm, the blankets twisted around his legs. She turned back to Riker. "Any nightmares?"

He nodded. "Just one. But he didn't wake up. He just...sort of fought his way through it."

Crusher stepped back into the living area and sat down in a chair opposite the first officer. "What got him so frustrated?"

"He, um..." Riker hesitated. He hated to tell Crusher that he'd experienced another regressive episode, although he was fairly sure she'd figured it out already.

"Will, you can tell me. He went into regression didn't he?"

"Yeah," Riker admitted. "But it was different, Beverly. It was like he knew he was in regression and he couldn't stop it or... consciously come out of it."

"And that's why the puzzle is all over the floor?"

"Like I said, he was frustrated. He kept asking me why he felt so strange. And we tried to work on the puzzle, because during the other times you know how much he seemed to enjoy it. But he couldn't concentrate. And after he...pushed it on to the floor, he went into his bedroom and cried for a little while. I tried to hold him. He just pushed me away, too."

"Have you tried calling Deanna?"

He nodded. "She's in conference. I left her a message."

Crusher leaned back and ran her fingers through her hair. "This means something, Will. I'm not sure what, but...it may not be as negative as it seems."

**"**I hope not. I was just getting used to having him back."

~vVv~

"I agree with Beverly. I think this is a good sign. If he's aware of his surroundings while he's in regression, then he's come a long way from where he was last week. This is what we were hoping would happen. That there would be some...sense of integration." She sighed and glanced from Riker to Crusher. "But it's not going to be easy. In some ways, it'll be more frightening than it has been."

"But what you're saying is...he's almost well?" Riker looked at Troi hopefully.

And she nodded. "That's what I'm saying. I just hope I'm right. Beverly, what do you think?"

"I'm not sure. And there's really no way I can be. When he's not in regression, his brain scans are normal. The initial nerve damage is healed. I think we're just waiting for the regressive episodes to end."

"And when will they?"

Troi shook her head. "Another week...maybe sooner."

"Am I invited to this conference?" Picard's voice came from the bedroom doorway. They all looked over at him.

"I assume I'm the... topic of conversation," he said, stepping over to the sitting area.

Crusher made room for him on the sofa and he sat down beside her. She placed a hand on his arm. "You are our favorite topic of conversation."

Picard sighed and glanced over at Riker. "Will... I'm sorry. About earlier."

Riker smiled. "There's no need to be."

"Can you remember what happened?" Troi asked.

Picard nodded. "A little bit. I was...confused. But I knew that I was. It made me...angry. It's like I...I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't make it right."

"And your nightmare?" Troi gazed at him.

"Same as usual...Borg, Cardassians...Will."

"Ah, a sense of humor," Riker returned. "He is getting better."

Picard smiled slightly, pleased with himself. But then the look on his face sobered. "It was frightening though. To know that...I wasn't in control. To feel..."

"To feel vulnerable?" Troi offered.

Picard nodded. "To be vulnerable is one thing, to have to feel it is another."

"It's not easy," Crusher agreed, "but we are here for you. And don't feel embarrassed with us."

"Easier said than done," Picard murmured, his eyes dropping to his lap.

"Hey, is anybody hungry?" Riker spoke up.

They all smiled.

And Troi sighed. Leave it to Will to break the tension with reference to food.

Picard looked up. "Actually, I am."

~vVv~

"Will, I know you were against the idea of a fourth rotation when Jellico mentioned it, but we might want to re-examine it for emergency procedures," Picard suggested as he took a sip of his tea.

Riker leaned back in the chair across the table from him. "It would alleviate some problems," Riker though out loud. "But it could also create some new ones."

Crusher shook her head and motioned Troi over to the sitting area. They settled on the sofa.

"They'll never miss us," the doctor said softly.

Troi smiled. "It's good to hear him like this."

Crusher drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. "Very good." She gazed over at the men sitting at the table. "And speaking of good." She glanced back at Troi. "Where did you find that recipe we had for dinner? That was wonderful."

Troi laughed. "It's one of my mother's."

"Are you telling me that Lwaxana cooks?"

"No. She eats. And this is a recipe she found on Loftmanis Two. It's really much better with fresh eel, but I think the replicator does a fairly good job with it."

Crusher's eyes widened. "It has eel in it?"

"Well, just replicated eel. You can prepare it with Prestonian slug worms, but I prefer the eel."

"You've been seeing too much of Worf. This sounds Klingon."

"Actually, I haven't been seeing too much of anyone."

Crusher nodded. "I know."

"Jean-Luc?" Riker's voice came from the table, louder than it had been.

"Will?" Crusher and Troi stood up and stepped over to them.

Picard was sitting very still, his tea cup in his hand. He was staring straight across the table at Riker, but it wasn't as if he were actually seeing him.

"Jean-Luc?" Crusher touched his shoulder, her other hand taking his cup away from him. She set it on the table. "Jean?"

"Bev...erly?" he responded quietly, his voice shaking.

"I'm right here."

He looked up at her, a frown creasing his face. "I'm...I'm sleepy." Tears had filled his eyes.

Crusher ran her fingers along his cheek. "Let's get you in bed then, all right?"

He nodded and allowed her to help him up from the table. Taking hold of his arm, she led him into the next room.

Riker stared over at Troi. Then he got up and walked around the table. "That was fast, Deanna. One minute we were talking about crew rotations, and the next, I'd lost him."

Troi placed a hand on his arm. "But not completely. He still knows who he is, who Beverly is. He is improving. He just needs some more rest." She took note of the worried expression on Riker's face. "And our friendship, Will," she added, wrapping her arm around him and giving him a hug.

~vVv~

"Blue ones," Picard murmured as Crusher moved to put a gray pajama shirt on him.

Crusher ran her hand along the side of his face. "All right. Blue ones." She went back to his dresser drawer and returned with a blue pair of pajamas. "These?" She held them out in front of her.

Picard smiled slightly and nodded his head. He sat patiently on the side of the bed while she dressed him, making no move to dress himself.

He was tired.

And she would take care of him.

When the pajamas were on, Crusher pulled back the blankets and helped him crawl underneath them. He settled into the pillows. She sat down beside him. He snuggled closer to her. She was warm, and he felt safe with her. He reached his hand out, and she took hold of it.

"Bev...I feel...different."

"You're tired, Jean-Luc. It's all right."

He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He was more than just tired. He knew that. But he couldn't think straight. He pressed his face against her thigh and closed his eyes.

Crusher stroked her hand over his head. And she began to hum. Soft, soothing.

Within minutes, he was asleep.

~vVv~


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: **Thanks for reading and thanks for the reviews! I'll be posting another Picard story soon. It's called _Frighted Peace_.

"I can do it myself!"

"Fine." Crusher let go of the shoe and got up off her knees. "But you don't have to wear them if you don't want to. We're not going anywhere."

Picard's hand reached down and picked up the shoe. "I can put them on myself," he said again.

He'd woken up in almost the same mental state he'd gone to sleep in, only now, he insisted on doing everything without her help. He'd managed to put on his clothes, and his socks, but the shoes were proving a little difficult. He sat on the floor next to his bed, struggling with them.

"I'm going to make something for breakfast," Crusher said, walking out the bedroom door. "Do you want anything?"

"No... Yes... I don't know," he sighed, abandoning the shoes and getting up off the floor. He followed her into the next room.

She was standing next to the food dispenser. "Two croissants and two glasses of orange juice," she instructed.

The items appeared and she picked them up and carried them over to the table. Picard joined her.

He stared down at the table top. "Beverly... I'm sorry. I..." He looked up. "I'm being awful, aren't I?"

She smiled and touched his cheek. "No. You're not being awful. You're just... frustrated. Deanna and I think you'll probably feel this way for at least a few more days. But the good thing is that we also think you may not experience any more episodes of true regression. Whatever happens, you'll probably be aware of what's going on."

He sighed and sank down into a chair by the table. "I'm not sure which I prefer the most."

Crusher squeezed his shoulder. "Well, I know which one I prefer. I like having you back."

He rolled his eyes. "Even when I'm...frustrated?"

"Even then," she whispered, kissing him on the forehead.

~vVv~

"Jean-Luc, you'll feel better if you take a hot bath."

"I don't want to."

"Do you want me to get Will in here and have him physically put you in the bathtub?"

'You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me." She turned toward the other room. "Will? Could I see you a minute?"

The tall first officer appeared in the doorway. He'd been overhearing the argument for the past five minutes and wasn't sure he wanted to get involved. He stared at Crusher, standing on one side of the bed, and then at Picard, standing on the other.

"Will, I'm having some difficulty talking Jean-Luc into a bath. Would you please-"

"Never mind," Picard interrupted, turning toward the bathroom. "I'll go take one myself."

The bathroom door closed behind him.

Riker sighed. "Beverly...don't get me involved."

"Sorry, Will, but you're already involved. He's just going through a mixture of the terrible twos and adolescence. Deanna thinks he'll hit full maturity in a few days."

"I hope so. I never know what mood I'm going to find him in when I come here. He's either angry or frustrated..."

"Don't you remember puberty, Will?" Crusher said with a laugh.

"No, I've worked really hard to forget it."

"Beverly!" The shout came from behind the closed bathroom door.

Crusher shrugged. "Duty calls." She left Riker standing in the doorway, went over to the bathroom and went inside.

Picard was sitting on the edge of the tub, naked except for a towel folded strategically over his lap. He looked up at her. "I don't have any soap," he complained.

Crusher opened a cabinet under the sink and pulled out a bottle of liquid soap. "While I'm here, why don't you let me scrub your back. It'll be relaxing. Relieve some of that tension that's knotting your shoulders."

Reluctantly, Picard nodded, and removing the towel, he carefully lowered himself into the water filled tub. Crusher sat on the edge where he'd been sitting. She opened the soap, lathered her hands, and then began to massage his shoulders and back.

He leaned into her hands and sighed.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" she asked.

"Um-um," he murmured.

"I won't tell you I told you so, but just remember to listen to me the next time I tell you you need a hot bath." She squeezed the back of his neck gently. And he smiled.

"I will listen to you always, Beverly."

"Good. Just as long as we know who's the boss around here."

He chuckled, and relaxed in the soapy water. "I have always known. I just forget every now and then."

~vVv~

She made suggestions, and he followed them. In fact, he did everything she told him to do for the next several days. And she began to worry. After all, she'd been expecting his attitude to get a little bit worse, before it got better.

"Why are you being so...agreeable?" Crusher stared at him as she placed a plate of meatloaf and broccoli in front of him. She knew that broccoli wasn't one of his favorite foods, yet he'd just agreed to eat it.

"You know best, Beverly." He smiled, picking up his fork and spearing a piece of the green vegetable.

She grinned, despite her concerns. "Granted," she agreed. She studied him carefully. "You're up to something. What is it?"

Picard sighed and looked up at her. "Beverly...I'm just ready to be well. Ready to be...me again. Deanna keeps telling me I have nothing to fear but myself. And she's right."

Crusher blinked. "Yes. She is right. I'm glad to hear you say that. I'll tell her you have complete trust in her. But what does that have to do with broccoli?"

"I have complete trust in you as well," he explained. "And if you think it best that I add broccoli to my diet, then I agree. And, if I do what you think best, perhaps I'll...recover just a little bit faster."

Crusher sighed. "You're almost there already, Jean-Luc. Broccoli won't make a difference."

He frowned slightly. "It won't?"

She shook her head.

He grinned. "In that case, I don't want any."

"But it is good for you."

He laughed. "You are hard to please, do you know that?"

She ran a hand along his cheek. "No. I'm not. Because I am very pleased with you."

"Even if I don't eat...the green stuff."

"Even if you don't eat it."

And he didn't.

~vVv~

He paced back and forth in front of his desk, and Crusher looked at him wearily. His pacing was making her tired.

"Jean-Luc, sit down before you wear yourself out."

He shook his head. "I'm just nervous, Beverly."

"I know. But you'll be all right."

He stopped and leaned against the side of the desk. "I feel like it's the first day of school."

She smiled. "In a way, it is. But you won't be the only student there," she laughed, elaborating on his metaphor. "That nice Will Riker is going with you."

Picard frowned. "Well, I wish he'd get here. We're going to be late."

"Yes, but you're the equivalent of the principal, so I think you're safe."

He exhaled a heavy breath, the line of his mouth creasing nervously. "Beverly...what if..."

She got up from her chair and went over to him; she took hold of his hands. "What if what?"

He shrugged. "What if...I forget?"

She shook her head. "You won't. You haven't had a regressive episode in over two weeks. And besides. Will is going to be with you the entire time. All three hours of it."

"This is very limited duty," he complained.

Her eyes widened in mock disbelief. "There's no pleasing you, is there? First, you don't want to go to school, and then you're upset because I won't let you stay all day."

Picard laughed softly at her expression, and then his own expression sobered. "I'm not upset." He squeezed her hands in his.

The door chime sounded, and a moment later, Riker entered. "Are you ready to go, Captain?"

Picard drew in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "I'm ready, Number One." He smiled at Crusher as he let go of her hands. "Will you have milk and cookies waiting for me when I get back?"

"Oh, most definitely. After all, I'm sending you off to school without a lunch box."

She watched as Riker and Picard stepped into the corridor.

"That milk and cookies deal," she heard Riker say, "can I get in on that?"

~vVv~

Riker reported that their morning spent on the bridge had gone well. The crew had welcomed Picard, and the transfer of command had proceeded smoothly. He was back, and that's all there was to it.

Crusher was relieved. They all were. Even Starfleet accepted his medical reports with very little inquiry, as if they knew he'd gone through enough already. And if Beverly Crusher certified him fit for duty, then he was.

Picard reached out and picked up a cookie from the plate situated in the middle of the table. 'You know. Beverly, I was just kidding about milk and cookies."

"I know." Crusher eyed the first officer at the end of the table. "But I didn't want to disappoint Will."

"And he would have been disappointed," Troi agreed, picking up a cookie for herself.

They all laughed. Even Riker. And it felt amazingly good to laugh.

Picard leaned back in his chair, and looked at the people gathered around him. He was a very lucky man.

"I...I feel like I need to say something," he began.

Riker lifted an eyebrow, a cookie poised at his lips. "Is this going to be a speech, sir?"

Picard shook his head. "No, Will, something much simpler." He took a deep breath. "Thank you."

Crusher reached out and took hold of his hand. She answered for all of them. "You're welcome."

Picard smiled, and the four lights in his mind's eye winked out of existence.

~The End~


End file.
